I’ve morphed myself into a trance as I search for my friend
I find him in a drawer, shining silver and sharp
While lifting it I remove the safety cap
And as I draw it across me, I feel nothing
I finally get what I deserve, a slice, a cut, a tare
But it’s not enough
I pull and press the skin apart and together
I bleed
I drift
I’m not finished, I’m addicted
I go again, and again, a hundred times if that’s what it takes
I can’t feel it
What’s happened, what’s wrong, what did I do
I never wanted to be this way
And while it disgusts me I feel releaved
I no longer feel sorry for things I’m not sorry for.
Abby Wesson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-m-so-sick-of-being-sorry-about-things-i-m-not/
