I barely feel real
And I'm relapsing again
I haven't cut myself since August
It's December now and it's here again at my bedroom door
Relapse is here to collect its drops of blood
The demon in me that conducts this night softly leads me to its place
My hand picks up the blade
More adrenaline pumps in
My legs carry me to my bed
My mind slows
My eyes look at my bare, scarred skin, waiting
My ears are pounding
My hand glides over and hovers
My heart is racing
I press in with the point and slice
19 times
My mind is soothed
YOU ARE READING
Desolation boy 3 - help me
PoetryThis one is for the ones who don't feel like they exist. And the ones who never get a break from pain. All poems are from my head, heart, soul and personal experiences 🛑TRIGGER WARNING🛑
