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