Blood

You watch the blood

Running down your arm

Staining your clothes.

God, it hurts.

But you can't stop now.

You bring the razor

To your skin again

Feel the hot pain

As the blade cuts

Now it won't stop bleeding.

Shit

You hold the tissue to you arm

Stop bleeding, dammit!

Fuck, you think

It's summer.

You have to wear short sleeves.

People will notice.

Ask, "What happened?"

And you won't be able

To tell them.

You don't enjoy the pain

(Hell, who would?)

You know it means you're weak

(Your friends have told you enough times)

But you do it anyway

(Almost every time you're left alone)

Why?

A/N: so, I was thinking, there are a lot of poems on here and other places that baisicly say that self-harm is a good thing, and blood flowing down your arm is beautiful. Well, it's not. It's messy and painful and theres always the chance that you'll get caught. Message to everyone: Don't cut, it's addictive, and even the addicts don't know they're addicted.