I watch as the blood runs down my hand
Sliding over my skin, dripping onto the floor
The clean white floor
I slide open the drawer on my nightstand
And search inside, searching for a fix
A band aid fix
I peel away the plastic and wrap it around the thumb
Stopping the flow, blocking the pain
The physical pain
To the deep darkness I succumb
Creeping in again, the fear rises
My anxiety rises
He calmly turns to me and begs me not to do it again
Saying that he’s sorry, shouldn’t take it out that way
But it’s the only way
Would he rather my wrists be slain?
I’ll stick to it, until im happy
If I become happy
I don’t know why I get so perturbed
It’s a disease, a horrible feeling
A constant feeling
Perhaps they are right and I truly am disturbed
Living a train wreck, you manage to look away
Why won’t my thoughts go away?
Ive taken to chewing the sides of my thumbs when im anxious or nervous.
So the poems about that,
But obviously more than that.