As the rusty metal slides across my vein
I can’t help but cry out in pain
Not the pain of the sharp *******
The pain of my mental deviation
The red beads don’t pile up like they once did
I don’t hurt myself the same way I did as kid
Now I have more finesse and poise
I make art out of my injuries and treat my blades like toys
They itch after they bleed but it serves as a reminder
Yet to my destructive nature I’m just a little bit blinder
With each minor slice and crimson lined splice
I attempt to soothe my inflamed skin with cold ice
Always scarring even the smallest ones count
No matter if it’s a scratch or a **** in any amount
I choose to bleed and hurt myself
I hide them with hairbands in optimal stealth
I deserve the pain I inflict on my arm
There isn’t a day where I don’t think of self harm
Age has no impact when you’re willing to die
You don’t outgrow these tendencies and if you think you can that’s a lie
It haunts you when you’re awake and even more when you sleep
You count the cuts on your wrists instead of counting white fluffy sheep
Stripped of my childhood I was taken too early
Twelve years old when I started down this path surely
Not knowing how my life would have changed
Not understanding how my thoughts would become so deranged
I look at my scars and I smile inside
I remember every event because with each one part of me died
Six years later I’m still learning to cope
I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel but I do my best to hope
Because although it’s not visible that doesn’t mean it isn’t there
It’s like the sun caressing your face or the wind brushing your hair
Maybe one day I’ll make it out of this abyss
But for now I’m stuck with death’s kiss on my wrists