i can't cut myself anymore.
i haven't done it in months,
i haven't been doing it regularly since i was admitted to the psyche ward.
not since my family was told by the doctors that i had been cutting myself for years.
i still remember that day,
waiting in a cold room for over five hours,
waiting for a spot to open up for me in the ward.
being escorted to a small locker room,
and all of my belongings being locked away.
going to a small room with a single, barred window,
being told to strip to my underwear,
and being examined for scars.
i was there for a week.
it was horrible.
but recently, the urge to cut myself has resurfaced,
but i can't.
people would know,
if i suddenly start wearing long sleeves again.
if i stop wearing above-knee shorts.
i crave the feeling of a cold razor blade pressed into my forearm,
a swift swipe downwards,
a hot rush of blood,
adrenaline and dopamine.
i want to bleed out until my vision goes black,
and i can't hear anything,
and i stop breathing.
i want to get high on percocet,
then take a lethal dosage,
and chase it with liquor.
i want to stop being alive.
i want to stop hurting.
why does everything hurt?
why don't i enjoy anything anymore?
why do i feel so empty?
why am i still here?
why am i still fantasizing about cutting myself,
imagining the stinging pain,
the blood dripping,
the scars left behind?
why am i still making these mental cuts?
YOU ARE READING
everything changes (but we all stay the same)
Poetryif my life could be replayed, if i could share my struggles over the course of time, if i could create such a thing, an endless recording of my life; it would be over hours and hours of overthinking. - (trigger warning for frequent, graphic descr...
