Psyke.org

RazorWrist

We Never Forget That Which Costs Us Blood

Copyright RazorWrist

I want to cut myself
I want streams of blood pouring down my arm, running through my fingers.
I want to dig away all the ugliness,
and remove everything black.
I want old memories burnt beyond recognition so I don’t have to remember
Anymore.
And I want to sleep, and wake up when it’s over.
Recovery begins.
Light returns, vibrant colours glow
and the heart softens.
Scars heal.
Smiles increase and now you can move.
But…
On lonely nights,
it returns.
That aching numbness in your stomach that pulls at your throat and hurts
your heart.
Those memories full of violence and abuse.
Old wounds open.
Tears flood back.
No matter what you do or where you go,
you remember.
Because we never forget that which costs us blood.

Torment

Copyright RazorWrist

Here I am again.
Not knowing what to do.
My trusty blade so close by.
Can I keep it locked away?
Less space for scars, but that’s no problem.
I’ll cut it all away.
My mind threatens to split.
My wrists beg to be stitched.
My throat prays to be wide,
A gaping view of misery.
I bore my fucking self.
Bleed me dry, stuff and stitch,
Then sit me on your shelf.
I am your play thing.
Your toy of sickness.
Looking through my empty eyes,
A tombstone quietly beckons me.
This torment I despise.
I cannot take this anymore.

Silent Conversation

Copyright RazorWrist

So many years have passed
Since I felt comfortable, and safe.
But now I’m awkward, uneasy and insecure.
We talk through sheer necessity,
and nothing more.
I don’t look at you,
Because now, through faults of your own,
You’re meaningless to me.
For years I’ve wanted to tell you,
How you made me feel.
So hateful, angry, hurt.
All because of you.
So now, as you try to recapture all those lost years,
Don’t you dare question my coldness.
I have so much to tell you,
but nothing to say.
As we sit in that uncomfortable, endless silence,
That seems to say it all.

 

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