Cutting.
It pulls me in.
I'm already sucked in so deep
I can even see the surface anymore.
I'm not sure I want to see it again.
I love the way the blade feels in my skin.
I see myself in the mirror
and I see my crazed eyes
wild with the pain.
Emoism.
My new high.
So far up
I can finally touch the fucking skies.
And I like it.
I know it's not healthy,
but neither is allowing the depression
to manifest over your heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem