Trigger warning: this poem talks of self harm.
The world has shifted
from
A safe place
To
One where I can't talk to
Anybody
Because I quit
Slicing at my skin
So if I do it
again
It won't last long
Because
Ill be sent
Away
To a place
With white walls
That smells of
Bleach
The doors are
Locked
What you
Do
Determines you
Stay
Your monitored every
Day
Until they think
Your okay
But you'll be back
Because you'll never be totally
Okay
So you hide what you
Do
And throw away the bloody
Tissue
Bandages in
Summer
Long pants once it's below
70 degrees
Then nobody will
Know
Of the things you
Do
In the darkness of
2am
Hoping nobody's awake
To hear you
Cry
