Cutting Pain is a Different Flavor of Hurt

Alone in my mind is 
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


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