⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️
the feeling of the blade
digging into my skin.
the pretty red ribbons
starting to seep in.
the amazing sensation-
the feeling of relief.
the drawbacks of the scars-
the scars are not brief.
they're stories;
maps of where i've been.
they're my troubles and mine alone,
they're not to be seen.
it's not a cry for help,
not for attention or pity.
all it truly is,
is just to help me.
it's to remind me i'm alive-
to remind me i'm important.
it's just to help me.
i'm not trying to be discordant.
i'm just trying to inform
you all of my pain.
'what are all these scars for?'
the more i question, the more i gain.
the initial sting of the blade-
it hurts more then ever.
not because it scars my skin,
it harms my mind forever.
i try to play it off;
'oh, i just slipped and fell'.
people seem to believe.
i guess i lied well.
maybe i shouldn't do it.
sure, it's quite bad to.
however, it feels so good;
the sensation is not new.
it helps me think,
it helps me cope.
i no longer feel the need to sink,
and i feel a sense of hope.
it brings me back to a world-
one that i control.
i no longer feel a weight-
i no longer take that toll.
it makes things feel better,
even if they're not.
my only real hope
is that i don't get caught.
YOU ARE READING
horrible poetry- happily depressing
Poetrythis is just some garbage poetry i'm writing. nobody'll read it, and that's fine. im just doin' some things.
