stop.
just breathe. 
listen to me:
put the blade down.
you can’t hurt yourself tonight.
now you’re thinking, ‘yes I can’
and that’s true, I guess you could.
but would it really solve anything at all? 
you’re broken already and don’t have to prove it. 
your eyes speak clearly of the things you can’t express:
things like how much it hurts when people stare
at the scars marking both of your arms.
and how words can hurt so much,
so much more than a blade
gliding freely across your wrist.
how you embrace pain
because it breaks
the numb
monotony. 
your demeanor
is speaking volumes:
things you didn’t know
that you really do know.
like how the drops of blood
that your body sheds are just tears
that your eyes can’t—or will not—cry.
and that every scar that marrs your beautiful body 
will someday be just a reminder you made it through.
but somehow, when you’re in the moment like this
all of that seems miles and miles away.
so you let your addiction control you.
saying, ‘really, just one last time.’
when you know full well
that that’s a lie.
you don’t care,
you need
blood.
and yet, 
you are aware
this has to stop. 
no matter what they say,
your problems will not just disappear
when you put on another fake smile 
and tell the world that everything is fine.
your heart knows, though your brain may deny it,
that you need to be heard, exposed, helped, and understood.
you need to open up—just a little bit.
you need to tell the world your story.
you need to know you’re not alone
and anyone who tells you otherwise
just isn’t worth your time.
just keep on fighting,
because that’s all
you can
do.

note: i also posted this piece on deviantART.com under the username kmills95: http://fav.me/d6z5wrp