Once again I find myself in this addictive circle

I can't look down in fear of crying

But just looking around reminds me of things

I'd rather forget

I look down at the blade as I lower it upon my wrists

Looking at the scars already caused by this incisive hatred

Of myself and everything that goes with it

Like thin lines of regret and pain

That I would rather have as a reminder

The hand the blade is in

Is shaking uncontrollable

But I am not crying, it is my way of screaming

It is my way of coping

It is my way of hating

Without anyone knowing, the blade hovers 2 cm above my wrist

Little do they know it's just a joke?

The scratches on my wrists are deep but do not bleed

I lower it down and put all my pressure onto the blade

Cutting my skin away, not hurting just tingling now

It is like a drug you can't put down

It is an addiction, a way of getting out

That's my way of hating everything

What's yours?