Why do I always crave the knife
Or broken protractor
I'm sick of this
Never ending **** really
It feels so good to just scrape the blade
On my bare skin
Not cutting or leaving a single mark
Just feeling the blade
Feeling it
I guess I just want to feel something
And tha used to bring me comfort
I want to feel comfortable again
I hardly remember what that is like
And why does something that causes pain
Make it easier to breathe
Takes away the pain
The blood shows that my ticker still beats on
I've never drawn blood
I wonder if the ticker is beating after all
It sure feels dead in there
I'm not sure this is a poem
Just a series of thought
I guess that's what poetry is, right?