They all say that you are just in it for attention,
But do they really know that the pain is real behind the locked doors in your mind.
They all tell you it will be fine and all you have to do is be patient,
But do they all know that your time is precious and short because of the torture.
They have no clue of what happens behind close doors.
To rid yourself of all the stress and yelling in your mind,
You'd press the savior blade against your wrist,
And spill the blood of your bruised soul.
The pain of the cutting skin isn't pain to you.. it's a release.
The blood crawling down your arm is a way of saying "Help Me".
The tears that you cry out are just a way of screaming out every problem without saying a word.
The blade you use is like a helping hand to your feelings.
Its reflection of the poor girl you see in the side mirror is just an image you used to hope you'd never see.
The blood emptying out of your body id the blood you used to hope you would never have to spill.
How do you tell a dying soul that it is still alive?
By the savior blade that reaches its limits?
Or by the many tears that leak out of your eyes?
What they see is the girl hiding all her true fears and abandonment.
They never stop to look at all the scars on your flesh from your savior blade.
How do you tell a dying soul that it is still alive?
Author notes
This is a true story of my own veiws on cutting. People tell me it is stupid, but what they don't understand is that is my only escape from life.
Written July 10th, 2005
A contest entry
- Something for you..and you...and you...and you.. by -Jaded Angel-.
300 points, ended July 15, 2005, 22 entries
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