And just today,
I stared at my wrist.
Blood ran cold, descending to the floor.
I couldn't believe the past arose.
It started because of fear.
Fear of being alone, scared; lost.
But then it turned to an action.
A need, but not an addiction.
Love made it only worse.
Thinking maybe he would care.
But of course not;
He only made me want it more.
A craving; lust, pure lust.
But love soon turned to hatred.
He left me, and made me even more scared.
But I swore to not cut.
I promised.
But that promise ran up.
Now today,
I stare at my wrist.
Blood ran cold, descending to the floor.
I couldn't believe the past arose.
She's going to hate me for it.
But it's my way of expressing my anger,
My fear.
I don't do it for help-
Nore is it a want.
But it's my self-reminder
Of my current life.
12-03-09
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem