MATURE: - Complete WARNING: SENSITIVE SUBJECT-Some Personal Poetry

[Garthic]

I realise that these poems deal with a sensitive issue that people may not be comfortable with, but they explain how I feel much of the time. So..read at your own risk.


Cutting

Razors cutting deep into my skin,
Blood dripping down my arm,
The feeling, Oh the feeling!

If only this feeling would last forever,
I could be a happy person,
If I could cut every minute of every day,
I could live my life being satisfied.

The knife digging deep into my arm,
The blood oozing out of my body,
The pain, Oh the wonderful pain!

If this pain could only last forever,
oh, how I would be happy,
Just to feel this pain,
What a life I could lead feeling this pain every minute of the day.

Man oh man, if I could only cut every minute of every day,
I could have a happy life,
Only if I could every second of every day of my life.
===========
One Slash

I cut every night
So my emotions and flesh don’t fight

One slash for my failures
One slash for my regrets
One slash for my anger
One slash for my being a reject

You don’t understand, it’s my only way to cope
You don’t understand, I’ve no place else to go
You don’t understand that I don’t understand

I cut every night
So my emotions and flesh don’t fight

One slash for my fears
One slash for my confusion
One slash for past years
One slash for my delusion

You don’t understand, it’s my only way to cope
You don’t understand, I’ve no reason to hope
You don’t understand, that I don’t understand

I cut every night
So my emotions and flesh don’t fight

One slash for my sadness
One slash for my hate
One slash for my madness
One slash for my fate

You don’t understand, it’s my only way to cope
You don’t understand, that I don’t understand

 

[Vivillon]

I shed many tears at this powerful poem. Your pain is so real with this; I just want to reach out through our screens and give help. Alas, I can do nothing but take in this emotional poem and be a witness to the pain you must be feeling.

 

[Garthic]

Cuts

Razors driving deep into my skin,
blood dripping down my arm.
Cuts, cuts, cuts, all over my body.

Knives digging deep into my unscrarred leg,
the blood oozing out of the cut.
Unscarred becomes scarred and no pain becomes pain.

Cuts everywhere on my body,
hundreds of scars, hundreds of scabs.
Cuts like cat scratches, cuts like razor burns,
cuts bleeding, cuts healing, cuts everywhere.
These cuts are who I am,
they are what keeps me alive.

These cuts give me feeling,
they make me feel alive and real.
The cuts explain who I am without me saying one word.

 

[Tyrfing]

I don't cut myself, but when I'm under heavy stress and depression (which I am, at the moment), I scratch myself with my fingernails to the point of bleeding on my arms, and I can empathize with this poem exactly, even if the pain certainly isn't as strong. Assuming you truly are cutting yourself, TC, I hope that you'll stop one day, but for now, this is quite the good poem.