Lora

I’m Lora and I’m 16. If I’d have posted this a couple of days ago I’d have been able to call myself an ex self harmer, but I cant. I couldn’t help myself the other night. Oh well, the cycle starts again…

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Copyright, Lora

The pain felt is a pain unshared,
She sees she knows they see,
She is mentaly and physically scarred,
The addiction that has become her release,
The only thing that can stop her is silence,
At any moment she knows she could break,
She wonders whats next,
She stares into the abyss that is her life,
What she sees she hates,
What she feels is pain,
She cant hide for long,
No one speaks of it,
Silence was a cure is now her trigger,
Any moment she could snap,
To feel the rush the relief,
Anything to escape,
Even for a second,
All she feels is the warmth of her own blood,
After a while it will be all she feels,
She sits in hatred of herself,
No one dares confront her,
She is truly alone,
The last is easiest,
She takes the pain,
Feels the rush,
She waits,
Red paint spills from her veins,
This is truly her last,
There is nothing after this,
In the morning it is over,
She is found,
Her self created red rug surrounds her,
She will be in peace, silence, pain forever.

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Copyright, Lora

Every cut tells a tale,
Every scar shows how I’ve failed,
Every tear shows my fears,
The deeper these wounds,
The longer it takes to heal,
The bigger the scar,
The less you’ll hear of my pain,
I have drifted so far,
Now there will be no surprise,
You’ll hear it in my screams,
My cries,
These scars show what I have realised,
They show when I couldn’t cry,
When I wanted the end,
And when I couldn’t trust anyone as a friend,
Each scar I resent,
But I can’t take it back,
Each cut is a story,
Pain from the past,
I can’t just forget,
Let me die,
I have nothing left.

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