I can feel the pain of desperation
trapped inside thoughts,
without release.
Tracing my finger over healing wounds
that time has allowed to scar.
I'm tired of popping another pill,
always thinking the same thing,
that one little cut would make me feel alive,
and no one else has to know,
nobody else but me.
Looking back on it,
I remember it never seemed worth it
when I had to then live in long sleeves,
but temptation is always on my mind
and I think I have lost my way
inside self control.
