I don’t know what to do
I don’t know why I do this
I always thought 'I could never do this. I would never try this'
or 'how could this help. I couldn't do that to my self'
but now look at me and my scars
its all changed now
now I see a needle, blade, anything sharp
when I’m stressed or want it to end then
... i just want it...
I want to see its sharp edge run down my skin
and the blood bubbles form from it
running, lifting, screaming, fighting cant do it like it use to
its like a drug the more you do it the more you need to get off on it
(still continues)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem