Self Harm

Knives and razorblades are my friends.

A cut here, a cut there,

Dark red blood seeping out,

My jagged breathing, the silence ends.

A perforated scar along my shoulder.

Cuts dotted along my arms,

These scars are ugly.

I wonder if they'll be there when I get older?

Slitting is my pain release.

It feels good:

But I know it's bad.

I just want this agony to cease.

These scars mark me for who I am.

Messed up and Stressed,

Suicidal and Depressed.

There is a slaughter and I am the lamb.