Memories of my childhood came back clear as day.
Sitting in the dark
Underneath the stairs
I sit with a pocket knife in hand
Mind full of horrific events
I let the blade slide across my wrist
Soul refreshed
I count the number of cuts
6
I watch the blood drip down my wrist
I try to come up with reasons as to why I'm still here
Nothing comes to mind
Bullied. Hated. Unloved. Misinterpreted. Misread. Used.
Day after day the problem gets worse
I meet Satan under the stairs every day
I sacrifice my blood
I'm return I get his pleasure
My pain my pleasure
