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by Makua
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Personal · #837804
A short poem about Self Injury (Cutting)
The blade caresses my wrist,
offering a slice of comfort from the pain.
Tempting me with shelter, outside of a raging storm.
It cuts deep below my tender skin,
a river of red runs down my arm.
With it, carrying my pain, my anger, my hate.
Washing it out of my body, and onto the floor.
And finally I can breathe.
© Copyright 2004 Makua (morrocanbreeze at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/837804-Out-of-my-body-onto-the-floor