The sad thing was,
Everyone knew
About what was littering my wrists,
What was hidden beneath thin sleeves.
The hard thing was,
No one cared
Enough to stop me.
Until suddenly it became
An inconveniences to them
To see me bleed,
Or the thin white lines that suddenly became,
Me
Then they toke all my little friends away.
Now I get creative with what I use.
Nothing that leaves a burn, cut or bruise.
I miss them not caring,
At least then I could stop this itch
Under my skin
That only
A blade
Could ever reach.
