My dearest flame. I am forever bound to your pain. I'm Wanting to spend all my time with you instead of my friend Mary Jane. I know it's crazy and absolutely insane! But I'm throwing this type of sobriety down the drain.
I wish to burn and bleed. Fill this ever growing need. Show me where this road will lead. I don't mind if you lie to me and tell me that this is coping and recovery. The lord no longer looks upon me fondly. To feel his love is a privilege. a luxury, and I feel that I am unworthy.
Now Satan's demons haunt me. Around the corner they taunt me. They're trying to get a hold of my spirit. They want me. They keep creeping up behind me.
They cause these wounds to become itchy. They've got me fidgeting and my nerves are twitchy. These acts are risky, but try to understand that this is my therapy.
All I need is a lighter and a knife and I will for once in my life be alright. I just need the blade drawn across my skin. Only then will I have cleansed myself of sin. Now I'm going all in. This is a game I'm good at playing, because with this game I always win. And so it begins.
My heart is aching. Spirit is breaking. Can't get my hands to stop fucking shaking. Fuck good decision making. I'm hurting God damn it! Look at these scara and see that my pain is real. I'm not faking!
Some won't be able to handle my diagnosis. I know this, and it is unfortunate because they all act like I intentionally chose this, but if I did, then how would I have wrote this? You can't write without feeling, even if emotions can be deceiving, they are still real for the time being.
YOU ARE READING
THC Meets Poetry
PoetrySelf medication meets art. Keeping it both mellow and dark. TRIGGER WARNING: Some of these poems contain topics like self harm, sexual assault, and drug/alcohol abuse. Viewer discretion is advised
