TW: The Blade.

TW (Trigger Warning): A poem about self harm.

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1. The Blade.


The sadness that wells inside you, pulling on strings,
Piling up of emotions, all of those little things.
They push down on you, the voices speak to you,
Telling you that you can't cope; you'll think them true.

It's there to help, you whisper quietly to yourself,
As you take to blade from your bedroom shelf.
It takes a lot of courage to break the skin,
One try, two tries, three... And then you're in.

Crying yourself to sleep, pushing the boundaries
Of life, kicking the doors down with lies.
'I'm fine,' you say with a convincing smile,
But inside, you're dying, and all the while

The thoughts of that blade are eating your mind.
Sitting there in class, you'll realise how blind
You were to difficulties self harmers face,
Words will be mentioned, your shoulders will brace...

It will continue for weeks and weeks on end,
Your focus will be on those cuts, you'll tend
To them daily. Ignoring your friends is hardly the way
To be spending the rest of your teenage days.

Arriving back home, back in your room again,
Before the blade, you take hold of a pen.
A note is scrawled in that bitter black ink,
The love of the blade has pushed you to the brink.

Cuts are made deeper, pills are needlessly swallowed,
You're not a person anymore; you've been hollowed
Into the husk of a boy, or a girl. Blood runs down
Your scarred arms. There's a pain in your crown.

And you're fading, fading away from people you love
Just because you thought you'd be better above.
Selfish thoughts of you, just you and no other,
You've left a younger sister, or maybe a brother.

All they have left are blood stains and that note.
That damned note that they know only you wrote.
The fading black ink is just a simple reminder
That you were perfect; no one was finer.
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