Max

Untitled

Copyright Max

Across my wrist I draw the blade
breaking skins splits wide
the blood I bleed,
Like tears never cried.

There is no pain, no searing gasp
Only the feeling that I am free
No one to tell me i am wrong
not a thing to worry about
only the blood, its ceaseless flow

the cold metal against my arm,
no different then the air I breathe
there is nothing more addictive
than a wound self-inflicted

All alone though i stand,I know
there is a reason, why do i do it?
I dont even know, the feeling it brings
happiness and sadistic freedom
the pain brining a natural high

The scars left behind
make me think, make me remember
all those times, i gave it up
i fell apart, lost in the flow of blood.

Sidebar

Share Your Poetry

See the Contributing Content guide for information on how to add your poetry to the site.