There is a lot of violence,
As i sit here and suffer in silence.
One cut leads to many more,
And soon my skin becomes all torn.
I watch my blood drip-
Then i put my hand to my lips,
Just to make sure i don't scream-
Wondering if this is all just a dream.
But i relize it's not,
As the battle inside is fought.
This pain is so real,
And as sad as i feel,
I wish my heart would just heal.
But it wont...
Too many times it's been broke and played with.
So the consequence is this,
And that is...
The cut on my wrist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.