I started,

The blade scraped across my flesh,

And the blood was drawn,

A smile crossed my face.

I kept going,

The gashes got deeper,

There was more blood,

A laugh pushed passed my lips.

I couldn't stop,

More cuts all up my arms,

Much more blood,

There was no more room.

I was lost,

There were cuts and scratches down my legs,

Messages carved into my skin,

My reality disappeared.

I was caught,

People started to notice the wounds,

So deep they needed stitches,

Though no longer bleeding.

I needed help,

They took away my razor,

I felt the emotional pain again,

I couldn't take it.

I stopped,

No more blood upon these arms,

The blade no longer created wounds,

Never will I smile like that again.

This isn't the end,

Soon I know that these arms will scar again,

And I will be happy,

Because one day I'm going to cut too deep...

View forgeteden's Full Portfolio
foxgloves's picture

Ah. This could be my story.
This poem expresses me completely.
This is one of my favorites.