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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Death · #1234432
Struggle of live and death.
Behind Closed Doors

Why do I do what I do?
The answer is, I have no clue.
Does this mean I’m sick?
If so, I’ve pulled the ultimate trick.

I know I need help.
But I’m scared to say how I felt
It helps the pain go away.
Unfortunately, it will always emotionally stay.

How do I stop?
It swallows me like water into a mop.
Stress is the worst.
For it’s the basis of this curse

The emotional pain is so bad.
If my parents knew - They would be so mad.
Many people suffer with this torment- like me.
So won’t you take some ease - Please?

I’ve only done it a few times.
And I seem to be fine.
So why do I feel so off?
From what I see, I should be on top.

But the pain is too much.
For emotionally I’m badly crushed.
Man this really sucks,
I hate the fact that I have to cut.

Sometimes I wonder why,
cause I’m not deprived.
I cry many nights - Alone
As my blood would start to flow.

For this cut is deep.
So to my bed I will creep.
I lay - bleeding, crying, and alone on my bed.
And hope that they’ll find me dead.

But a last it’s morning- and I’m alive.
Death - Once again I was deprived.
Slowly I get up to clean up my mess
Cause if my parents were to see - They would think of me even less.

I love my parents so much.
And yet - Emotionally they’re out of touch.
I don’t want to die.
But the pain would make an insensitive man cry.

As I leave my room - I put on a smile.
With me crying inside all the while.
With long sleeves on in mid-summer
For the cuts I try to cover.

As I listen to what others are saying.
The entire time I’m praying.
For that one day I will succeed.
In my dirty little deed.

A last it’s time for bed.
My - the thoughts going through my head.
I know how to make them stop.
I grow weaker as it flows faster with every drop.

This time I think I did it.
So on my bed I’ll sit
And wait - And the tears start to poor.
Cause you never know what happens -
                                        Behind Closed Doors.
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