Bruises on my body
Scars on my wrists,
Yelling surrounding my head
Nothing good will come of this.
Razors for the beatings
Blood to ease the pain inside
Depression comes out to say
“Your soul will die”
Do I listen?
No way.
I’ll go in deeper
I’ll find my way
And even if I die,
I’ll die to say
“I was a mess
That you would never understand.”
So as I carve this pain away
If I bleed to my death
One thing is for sure
It’s that I’m at ease now
And not suffering from the world.
So as I write my story on my body
Be prepared for the worst
Because this thing that I have
Is more than a curse.
Kelsey Joe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cursing-myself/
