Finally home
from the mental hospital,
the place where psychos like me almost
belong.
You would think
that after being stuffed with pills
and encouraging words
that I would be ready
to change.
And I am, sort of.
Except that I'm not.
So I grab one of the many razors
my parents never found hidden away
and slide it across my stomach.
Oh! Easy now.
How I missed that sweet sting.
But it's not enough. The voice
in the back of my head calls,
"Bay-bee, bay-bee!
Is that the best you can do?
C'mon, deeper!"
So I give in
and slice a deep one
across my fat thigh.
Oh my god.
So incredible.
I rock back and forth in
pain and ecstasy.
Despite my high,
a nagging thought pushes through
the blankness of my thoughts
"You failed again, don't you see?
all that work
all that therapy
all that promise
and nothing has changed."
What did you think?
Comments
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i have been to a mental hospital four times in the past year and a half, an IOP therpy once..about to start it for the second time..and individual..and i always go back to cutting..i think this is my favorite poemi have read since i have been a member on here. great write.
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I really liked how you talked about what it felt like. Most poems are like...I cut myself..and thats it lol. This was really great.
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