Banging my head, to return to reality,
Bruising and burning myself, a form of self cruelty,
The pain makes me come alive, its better than being dead,
At least I can control my wounds, a voice in my head said.
Inflicting wounds, not letting them heal,
Is now an established pattern, the way with pain I deal.
Trying to run from the agony, the void, the numbness,
Each scar a testimony, to the Hell of which I'm an alumnus.
Anger pent up, I need to release the inner turmoil,
That I cut myself at places, as a punishment, you recoil.
I do this not to seek attention, nor to end my life.
I'm hopeful things will change, as I contemplate that knife.
Self-harm over the years, dulls pain, makes me go extreme,
It ups my risk of suicide, can't you help before, I scream!
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