I'm done.
Done fighting,
Done hiding.
Done keeping quiet,
When I just want to shout.
I can't keep smiling.
I can't keep lying.
It's time I walk away.
But what if I listened?
Would I end up hanging from the ceiling?
Or would I bring the blade down,
Drawing a crimson picture?
YOU ARE READING
Cuts That Spell
PoetryPoems of depression, anorexia, self-harm, hope, and recovery.