She pressed down
On her beloved blade.
The only thing
She had left.
She pressed until
she couldn’t bring
herself to go any
Deeper.
The skin was splitting
As she bled out.
No one believed her.
No one loved her.
No one really cared.
She was alone in how she
Felt.
In how she
Lived.
They all pushed her aside,
Saying she wasn’t damaged
ENOUGH,
Broken ENOUGH.
She just plain wasn’t
Good enough.
She got to the point,
Where she couldnt even
Face
How she felt
Without her music.
Her love, he told her
That she must simply
Get over herself.
And constantly…
Her mind, it fought.
“He is right…” versus
“He is WRONG!!!”
She needed help..
But the only kind
She could afford..
Was the kind only
Her blades could offer.
So she continued on..
Pressing… Deeper…
Until she couldn’t
Go any deeper…
Press on…
And on….
Until your blood..
Is gone.
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2 comments
I wish I had the nerve/courage it takes to cut myself and just bleed out. I hate being cold and every war movie that someone is injured really badly they speak of being cold as they are dying.
I just want to go to sleep and not wake up.
I understand. Honestly, my choice of death is to fall off a building. And I say fall, because I want to step up to the edge and fall backwards. Not just jump. It’s more.. beautiful.. to fall, in my mind. Anywho, yeah. I wrote this because of my self harm..