deepundergroundpoetry.com

Cutting Pain is a Different Flavor of Hurt

Alone in my mind is
scary,
my imagination runs free
ruining my view of life,
putting down my bloody �
razor that kissed my skin over
and over again,
insecurity rises to the surface
and I pull at my hair,
tugging trying to calm the voices in my mind,
pacing I look at the razor feeling my wrist pulse
and throb,
looking dead at a wall you try talking to me,
it's no use I feel nothing,
I don't even feel real,
everything is blurry
and turns to static until I
block out what you say,
all I can hear are the clocks ticking,
almost mocking me,
regulating my pulse,
the air gets thick and �
I can't breathe,
I literally can't breathe,
it feels like everything is moving to fast,
to fast that I can't handle or deal with it,
it's to overwhelming,
pacing around, �
feeling anxious and desperate to stop
the voices and the sounds,
shaking and crying I sit on the floor after you leave,
kissing the razor to my skin,
over and over trying to hush my demons,
feeding them the hunger they crave within me