Dark Poetry

Cutting

I remember that day all those years ago.

I was feeling so empty and numb.

I just wanted to feel something.

It happened by accident the first time.

I was doing dishes and cut my hand on a knife.

It hurt, not to horrible but I still felt something.

And that's how it started.

Cutting made me feel, yes, it was pain.

But at least it was something.

I was smart never cut the same place twice until it was healed.

Always had an excuse for the thin red lines on my thighs.

I don't even know when it got out of hand.

The more I did it.

The more I became addicted to it.

The pain, the feeling, the blood.

All of it.

It made the emptiness go away.

The pain from it showed me I was still alive.

I believed I needed it or I would lose myself again.

And that's when it went down hill for me.

The usual cuts won't doing it anymore.

I became to use to it, I was losing the feeling from it.

So I pushed myself further.

And that's where I messed up.

I cut too deep and long into my leg.

I remember the panic and fear I felt.

When I couldn't stop the bleeding like before.

That's when I realized I cut to close to my artery.

Because I was so stupid and wanted to feel pain.

I almost took my own life without realizing it.

I hated myself so much for it.

I sore that day I'd never take a blade or any sharp objects to my skin again.

I sometimes try to push the memory of those times away.

And pretend it never happened.

But I'll never be able to fully forget what I've done.

I still have the scar to remind me.

Every time I look at myself.