I am adding on to the poem. Well, it's sorta it's own poem but yeah.
The next day I smile a bit
I look at my wrist and bite my lip
I'm proud I didn't do much damage
Two tiny lines
barely an image.
At last a small bit of hope arises..
then falls.
My stomach drops
My mind does a flip
My shakey arm
wants a slit.
I know I shouldn't
I wouldn't dare.
But the thought
the feeling...
Is always there.
I want to know the real thing.
I want to feel the blade against my skin.
But yet I'm coward
and to scared to try.
So I'll just scratch and sit and cry.
I hold my tears
They help no bit.
I hold my tongue I bite my lip.
For I may never tell a soul
Not even the ones close at all.
YOU ARE READING
Get it all out
No FicciónThis is where I can safely vent about what's bothering me. It's to help, and it's a coping strategy. Please don't be rude on here, but if you want to say something, go ahead. It's mostly just for me to get better though. ✏
