…pain… it feels refilling, refreshing.

Watching that red liquid,

Slide down my pale crust.

One slice and two then three ... so much red....

Cutting with my blade…so I can feel.

 Admiring the scars I contain.

Bleeding just to make sure I’m breathing,

Quenching my desire for control momentarily,

Letting the relief flow thoughout.  

              It’s inhumane they tell me,

But they have not felt what I have!

“What’s wrong?” They ask me,

But no words can justify the answer…

Then comes the ache I feel,

When realizing they do not actually care.

They are blind to my emptiness … paranoia.

Those who do notice, just give up, and

My little lost soul continues to wish for a savior.

             Every time he yells more liquid will run...

He, who is meant to be my first love.

He, who tells me I am useless, wretched, or revolting.

He, who causes me to sleep with pain.

He, who torments me for living,

Creates a new heartbreak, with every promise.

Why will he not help me?

Why does he not love me?

Why has he not killed me?

             My knife is my only happiness.

I smile a “beautiful” smile everyday, but

A smile doesn’t always mean happiness.

Eyes that everyone adores. A laugh many enjoy.

 It is all fake, but no one would suspect it.

 I have become a fine actress,

Becoming the lies that have flown out of my mouth.

Someone will see the agony in my eyes,

The windows to the soul.

           I am a puzzle that is missing a few pieces, unwanted.

I call out into the darkness,

Waiting for a response,

For anyone to save me,

Before it’s too late…

I feel like I’m going to snap,

Someday I’m going to break,

If someone doesn’t save me quick,

Then it’ll all be to late……………..

Poetry Slam: 
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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