PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You can't see them on my hand when i make a fist,

All the designs of the blade dragged across my wrist.

Indentations on my elbow that didn't do much harm,

Twenty-four of them I've counted, and that was just my arm.

There is one on my face right under my eye,

So if you were to punch me, brown tears i would cry.

Now my foot is broken and they are on my toes,

Why i have been limping, no one really knows.

If i could rearrange them, i could spell my name on my knee.

If i was any more depressed the more cuts there would be.

There are dozens across my tummy from when you called me fat.

They form lines down my back so im a rougher mat.

You do not know how many because they are covered by my clothes. 

But if you look close enough you can see some near my nose.

There are times when you curse me and i want to cut deep

but if i do, i'll lay down and never wake from sleep.

Sometimes i sit back and wonder how long it will take,

before i solve all my problems with the cuts i make.

My friends want to help me but all i have to say 

is "If you truly wish to help me you will stay out of my way."

I hate my life so much i only want to cry,

but do not be mistaken i do not wish to die.

When my problems go away and i feel no pain,

I'll stop cutting my arm cloud, and watching red acid rain.

When you give back the key to my happiness, locked behind steel bars;

I will throw away my knife and stop with these intoxicating scars.