crimson and silver

drawing with a silver blade,

making intricate lines on my arms

watching fascinated as dark

red

crimson 

blood

appears.

starting to pool and fall

fall to the ground 

at my feet.

when people ask 

why cut

or 

why harm yourself

i scoff and tell them 

how else do i get rid of the pain.

the feeling of the blade cutting 

cutting through my skin is extreamly europhoric

filling my mind and soul

drowning out the heartach and the misery.

This poem is about: 
Me

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