I raise my index finger to my lips
and savour the unmistakable
metallic taste of my blood.
A relentless wave of 'Crimson comfort'
poures out of my slashed wrist
until the warm, red liquid
has run from my veins
to the floor.
My scarred, tattered, bruised, scratched, purple
and wounded wrist stares up at me as if to say
'you've already gone this far...why not finish?'
I'm trying to resist the request of my bloody hand
as it threatens to slice, to cut and to murder.
Do I dare defy my shaking hand?
Do I deny it of its 'Scarlet relief'?,
that beautiful substance
which reminds me I'm alive,
which brings be to feel....
which keeps me insane....
....But Alive!!
Author notes
Written February 6th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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very sad and very much had me wanting to reach out and hug u as well!
very well done with describing the life of a cutter
it was almost like lookin in the mirror, or opening the pages to my own life and seeing my own heartache and rage!
once again, well done
♥ Dani -
well...
I love the way it was written. It pulled me in immediatly, and it also quite honestly made me want to just hug you. Though the poem was fanastic, it doesn't change the fact that there is real pain behind what is written. That you know what it's like because you've been there. Which would bring me to my next question. Why the hoplessness...? Why not find a better way then cutting and offer it to those who are lost in this world? -
a very blatant and clear picture of the mind of a cutter. well written and sad, i did enjoy this, if only because i understand it. thanks for the write.
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Wow...this is very descriptive of the awful habit of self-harm, unfortunatley I can relate with this poem as I have been there. Nice write, hit the feeling really well. xXx.
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love this poem, hate it comin from u tho honey, keep ya head up ur beautiful.. xoxo
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ali, dont even think about it, you win ok just stop
my counsellor said to get ice out of the freezer hold it in ya hands and fukin squeeze it like hell it gives he pain without the scars, try it 4 me i love ya -
The drip,drip,drip
Red and hot and scalding your life blood drips on the floor.the temptation to continue holds you in its unforgiving grip.Your anger and insight into your condition will go a long way in your healing.We need you around sweet Poet.Elizabeth. -
Blood...it is the essence of life. This was spectacular and woke something inside of me. It sings of emotion and of silent anger.
Lestat -
i love this poem it is truly wow i have never read a poem so true about blood well dne
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