I thought if I wasnt using this for anything else, I could use it for my poetry...Dony judge me, I dont judge you...

Would a blade to my wrist stop this pain, And make me whole again?

The gentle motion would sooth me, yet slowly sting my skin.

But a physical pain has quick remedy, and somewhat great control,

Blood turns light, face goes white, the cold night I patrol.

I eat a pill to not feel ill and cry as I curl up,

One after another theyre gone, this body you corrupt.

Lonely nights lay past, even lonelier nights lie ahead,

I heave and puke violently, no need to get out of bed.

And I leaned against that bathroom wall that night,

And slit my skin for you, the blood oh how it bled, a red so very true.

I did it not to kill myself, but to some how control pain,

I found a comfort in a cut so deep that for a moment it stopped the rain.

A few minutes later, I came back out and the sting had gone away,

But the many words you left me with are forever here to stay.