The warmth that runs down my arm and into the sink is the best way to cope.
Of this, I am sure.
Nothing brings quite the same feeling, and despite my fear of needles, I've developed a particular liking for the blade.
They cut as if my skin is what they were developed to destory.
They cut in thin, neat lines, keeping track of the days I'd rather not be alive.
And it's the best way to cope,
Because I've acustomed myself,
To love the feeling.
It's like an addiction,
I don't want to abandon.
YOU ARE READING
Reflection VS. Reality
PoetryBEAUTY is always going to be at the expense of my health. INTELLIGENCE is always going to make me feel incompetent. WISHES TO BE better will only ever be wishes. TRUST is too dangerous to consider, FAITH is for those who require an explanation, MI...
