I cut to try and get rid of the pain.
But the pain seems to never go away.
Everytime my life seems like its getting better something always seems to bring me back down.
For once in my life i would like to have more than a day of happiness.
I feel the need to cut right now.
But i dont want the habit to come back.
I havent done this for a while.
Seeing the blade is so tempting.
I think to myself...well maybe just one.
Well one leads to two then two leads to three.
Then the number of times doesnt matter anymore.
By then all that matters is if the pain is there.
But the pain is always there.
And the scars are the perminite reminders of why they're there.
What the reason was for those cuts.
All together i have seventy-four scars.
Some are deepper than others.
Some are more visible than others.
There is only a second of relief when i cut.
But when i do cut.
When i look down at my arm and see what i have done to myself.
I am ashamed and embarassed of what i have done to myself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Don't be ashamed.... other poeple should be ashamed for making you want to do that. Lovely poem, and a nice read!