People tell me that its wrong,
This thing I do to my body.
They say its bad.
They say its disgusting,
But how could they know?
Who are they to judge?
They have not been through what I have.
They have not heard what I have.
They have not felt what I have.
They do not have to live with this.
All these feelings that overwhelm and consume me.
The hurt.
The want.
The need.
The desperation.
The heartache.
The passion.
The loneliness.
And most of all,
The hollowness.
The emptiness.
The numbness.
I carve and cut
Just to stop it all.
Their is a hate in me so deep
That it will never leave.
Their are scars on my body,
My spirit,
My heart,
My soul,
No one will ever see.
No one understands the need
To see that blade cut.
To see that blood flow in red rivers.
Its all I have
To tell me I am alive.
To tell me I am awake and not dreaming.
To tell me that this nightmare is reality
And it is well and truly real.
