I kind of thought that I summed up the feeling of cutting, but I’d like to know if it seems right, because it does for me.
The slices on my wrist hurts
Yet I continue to feel pain
I don’t feel anything, not yet
Go deeper, hurt more, fresh blood.
My thirst quenched but the want
Grows more until I give in
Go another round, getting more high
The touch squeals with untimely pleasure.
I take a breath and sigh
A sweet moan escapes into darkness
As fresh blood sweeps me away
Dripping onto the newly bleached floor.
Drip-Drop, Crack-Smash, loud banging
On the bathroom door, begging me
To stop but I do not stop
No I keep playing this roulette.
Suddenly it all goes too deep
I cry out in pain-joy
Slouching against the glowing crystal tub
Gasping for breath, praying for death.
One last time, I look down
And see the pool of blood
Now surrounding me, sending me fear
I am afraid of the known.
3 comments
Wow, great poem! If you wrote this yourself, you have great talent! That poem hit me deep 🙂
Yeah I did and thanks, I thought that it would hit the spot just nicely 🙂
Wow…exactly. </3