Almost every day.
I think about cutting myself,
Constantly.
Even as I write this.
There is the knife,
Set upon the pillow.
Taunting me.
Tears streaming,
like rushing rivers.
“Just as the blood will.”
It speaks.
It says my name.
It mocks me,
At my weakest moments.
It speaks the lies I already know.
An endless loop of Misery.
Tear soaked eyes,
Bloodstained skin,
Burning.
Holding back the sobs,
Anguish,
Fear,
Pain,
Hurt,
Burns the most.
You do not understand,
The pain I inflict upon myself,
Without a physical knife.
How can the simplest of things,
like crying,
Cause us the most pain?
Isn’t it ironic?
About the Creator
Cassandra Grace
I'm from Kentucky. I write stuff. I use inspiration from my personal life for most of my writing. I haven’t written in a while, but please enjoy some of my poems and random archived writings.
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By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶3 days ago in Petlife
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