PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

i take the blade out of my drawer

i feel the cold upon my wrist

over the lines i drew before

they are still there, i do exist

i set the blade below one line

push down and feel the sting

i miss that feeling my skin slowly breaking

and look at the pain it brings

i lift the blade off of the line

my blood trickles down my arm

i wipe it off and find a new spot

to use my self inflicted harm

you ask me why i do it

i have no answer you see

no one person can help my mind

this is my therapy.

    

                         By: Tia Marie Thompson