a plead to tom

Yet again
A razor before me
A computer in front of me
Feeling the need to type this
Hoping that if I get my feelings out
I wont hurt myself, or my poor friend
My friend, who I made a promise I would tell
If I did it again. And he promised if I did, he would
I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to bleed. To hurt.
Like me. I don’t want him to be ashamed of me.
I don’t want him to start self harming again.
Because of a silly promise. One I regret.
I promised I would tell him. I did.
I would want him to tell me.
But will I tell him?
He stopped.
But the need.
The unbearable urge.
Why did he make that promise.
He would only get hurt. He escaped.
I didn’t’t.  Not yet.  Why can’t I stop now?
Why cant I put the razor back and forget it?
If he got addicted again, it would be my fault.
If I hurt me, I’l hurt him. I don’t want to. Well..
What  If  I don’t  tell  him?   Then he  wont  hurt.
But I promised. And he would keep his promise
I think. But he wouldn’t’t find out. I’d lie.
Or would I admit it to him? And beg,
Beg him not to hurt himself.
But when he hurt his self,
I did too. A long slash.
I  kept my promise.
So He would  his.
But He stopped.
What do I do?

I’ll send him this poem. I’ll beg. I’ll plead.
And maybe, just maybe.
He will break his promise.
For me.



not much of a poem, but a true story