To my parents, I tell you this:
I'm so sorry that my life's a mess.
But you're both impossible to impress
So because of you, I cut.
“I am not worth it”, “I deserve pain”
Are the ridiculous voices in my brain
That leave my arms bloodied and slain
So because of these thoughts, I cut.
It's a morbid addiction I fight everyday.
And every night I silently pray
That I'll wake up and just be “okay”,
But I'm not.
So because of this truth, I cut.
I'm so desperate to be free
And resume life as the “old” me.
Open my eyes and bravely see the daunting road to recovery.
It's long. It's arduous, but filled with hope.
And will teach me new ways to cope
With the pain of my thoughts and the stress of real life
And end my love affair with that knife.
But sometimes I'm nervous, scared or unsure
Of whether or not I want to further explore
The path that won't leave me bleeding anymore.
So because of this fear, I cut.
Watching the blood, red, fresh and oozing.