Blade at my neck Lips have never touched this neck The blade has never touched my neck or my wrists It has never pierced my skin It hasn't cut the veins in my wrists It's been hovering over my wrists and my neck for years Always waiting till I was weak enough to let it do it's job To cut through my skin and ******* blood And to feel the warmth of it flowing out of my veins And to cover itself in sate I've been weak enough to almost nick my skin But I never let it slice me Or dice me Or slit my skin Only a few finger ****** have happened And that's it Blade at my neck The flat of it on my side And blade at my heart to **** my emotions And blade at my wrists to help my mental pain or to let me bleed out But they're just hovering right above my skin Just waiting Until I'm weak enough *to let them do their job
I don't cut. Never have. But I've imagined this many times anytime I think long enough. I'm sorry if this poem scared you!