The way you’re powerless over the worst parts of yourself

The way you’re powerless over the worst parts of yourself. The bittersweetness of giving in and proving right every doubt you had about you ability to quit. The satisfaction in the pain and sight of gorgeous blooded skin. The creeping regret after the realization, guilt washing over you like ice cold water, how could you do this to yourself? To your friends who believed in you? To your poor mother when she sees how you mutated her precious baby? Her little girl? But most importantly, how could you do this to that little girl, that sweet innocent little girl? She used to be so afraid of blood, of getting hurt. She dosent deserve this. How could you?

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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