When I'm down, lonely and stressed,
Then i do what i do best.
Blood from skin, tears from eyes,
I sit and do what i despise.
Fragile wrist so slim and small,
One cut too deep could end it all.
Cuts from present, scars from past,
Seems this ache will always last.
Skin always pink, cuts so red,
All alone thinking in bed.
Try to resit but fail too much,
Always here the need to cut.
Scratched, scarred, bruised and sore
The need to do it ever more.
Through the skin the pain draws out,
But it helps, with out a doubt.
So much more than meets the eye,
But when it's done i wonder why.
Silent pain, silent fear,
Must do more than shed a tear.
The scars, cuts, bruises, pain,
Still i do it over again.
Slash my wrist, cut my arm,
What i do is just self harm.
When I'm down, lonely and stressed,
Then i do what i do best...
