Like a needle breaking the skin,
It keeps happening,
Over and over again.
The blade shining at me,
A habit hard to break,
And it bacame all I could see.
I love the sting of the blade,
The cuts remind me
Of all my shame.
I love the knife,
It helps me remember
The little girl inside me that died.
She was my innocence.
She was who I used to be.
When he found me, it all came to an end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem