It's going on one,
And I'm starting to feel numb,
I feel like crap and I don't know what to do,
If I'm feeling shitty I usually grab you,
But I've resisted for so long,
I know that it's wrong,
And yet your call draws me back,
It's you that I lack,
As each day gets harder, I come so close,
One more sweet savior, just one more dose,
My razor my buddy, my very best friend,
No matter how much I hurt, I vowed that I'd end,
So I can't pick you up, plug my ears when you call,
In every race, you'll trip and you'll fall,
However temping or sure I am that it's okay,
I know I'll start crying later today
And then what will I do?
Come back to you?
Get in that vicious cylcle again,
Spend the rest of my life in rain?
I'll refuse my razor for today and tomorrow,
Today's everlasting, no matter how sorrow,
And tomorrow never comes, so no more cut fate,
I'll breathe and I'll cope and I'll stand up straight,
So goodbye good friend, you've helped my before,
But I woun't take you back, I don't need you anymore.
While She Sits There
While she sits there,
All alone,
Surronded by friends,
But still on her own,
She thinks of death,
Sweet surrender,
And the sharp razors,
Tat will mend her,
With every cut she makes,
She comes closed to dying,
With every poems she writes,
She comes closer to crying,
She feels so alone,
Like nobody knows,
Every flying insult,
Worse tan a blow,
And it seems so bleak,
So hard and unkind,
As she cries herself to sleep,
Losing her mind,
And she reaches for the phone,
And realises no one cares,
Glances down at her thigh,
And makes a fresh tear,
And while it hurts inside,
It only gets worse,
Until the ultimate end,
Driven away in a hearse.
Scars
They're a constant reminder,
Of things I don't want to remember,
It's like the aftermath of a fire,
And that one burning ember,
It could start a blaze,
Or die and fade out,
But I guess that's what cutting,
It's all about,
The scars on my legs,
And problems of the past,
And I'll always hope,
That they'll never last,
After all they're a death wish,
Another thing wrong,
And no matter what,
There's scars skinny and long,
Made with a razor,
So elgantly said,
So there is no other choice,
Than to just go to bed.
Home
Authors Note
Sylvia's Tips To Stop Cutting
The Garden
Books
More Poems
My Story
Obsession
Links
My Rants And Ravings
My Biggest Supports
Top Ten Excuses For Scars/Cuts