For your poems.
stab into my soul, giving strength to wasted tears.
Trust, a luxury I cannot afford.
Condemned by my own accord.
Heated arguements have lead to silence.
Now I’m locked away, suffering quiet violence.
The need to loose control is just so tempting.
The mirror I look into is now empty.
Once I was promised your salvation.
But your hatred lies on me as abomination.
No one to run to, nowhere to go
this loathing breeds in me, I know.
I hate this horror, need to hide
from the disappointment I have inside.
I’ve murdured everyone who’s cared
out of self defense, because I’m scared.
That the beast inside has become me
and I need this blade to set him free…
The impurity drips slowly down my arm
as alternative to causing anymore harm.
Forcing myself to lock these feelings deep within.
Abandonment, for the sake of discipline…
I grow calm,
And I’m crawling back out of this hole.
… where are you?…
Its the anger and rage that I cannot show
that causes these scars on my arm to grow.
I feel too strong, and others cant take it.
I must hurt myself, if I’m gonna make it.
We’ll choose a place that cannot be seen
And plan out a cut with a razor that’s clean.
Locked away alone in the bathroom
wishing I had the guts to make it my tomb.
Slowly, ever so carefull dismantling that blade.
Pulling it apart with some pliers,
thinking about all the reasons I deserve this.
Hiding the remnants in the bottom of the trash
noone can know that I’m doing this.
They would tell me it’s wrong, that it’s stupid…
But they need this as much as I do.
They could’nt understand
that if I was’nt dragging this blade across my arm
then it would be thier neck.
The world cant take my pain,
how can it expect me to take it’s pain?
Disappointment, that I cant be like everyone else.
I’ve failed as a husband, father and friend.
A hesitant scratch, we’ll slash again.
FAILURE! What a *****! I can’t even cut deep.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Why cant I be normal? Why cant I live
my life without all of this pain?
I hurt others, I cant show them how I feel,
they dont really care, nor should they.
Finally. A good, deep cut.
My skin splits open, I barely feel it.
But I do feel that warm crimson,
drawing a beautiful line down my arm,
Â dripping from my fingers; So pretty, enchanting.
Another deep gash erupts, now I’m finally doing something right.
In a frenzy, I’m hacking away at myself
Fuck you! Peice of shit, Liar! Betrayer!
Too deep. Fuck it.
I dont fucking care, I know that’ll be hard to hide,
it’ll soak through my shirt.
I’ll deal with that later.
The endorphines kick in.
Flicking my hand and wrist, I watch the blood droplets explode on the bathtub floor.
I like the spatter.
I’m beginning to feel even with the world,
and for a precious few minutes the pain is gone.
I can be like everyone else for a while now.