Pain For Pain
I teeter and totter right on the edge
of sanity.
When these walls are painted black,
darkness becomes me.
I'm not myself, during this time I'm
climbing walls.
Hands in my hair pulling, and
scratching my scalp.
What feels good is self destruction
now.
You'll call me crazy, long to put me
in a cage and contain me.
I cannot distinguish this ache.
My mind is filled with an explosive
pain, the measure of escape is more
pain.
Hurt diminishing hurt is the only
way.
I relish in the smell of my burning
flesh.
The knife scarring my thin skin
makes the adrenaline rush.
Don't let me get into what the loss
of oxygen brings.
I know I am not sick, just sick—if it
makes any sense.
I can't scream like others when I
ache.
My voice too small, feelings though
not so much meek.
But my soul is weak.
This self harming does something
wonderful to me.
I am letting it all go for a moment,
because it doesn't fade.
It'll always stay the same.
One day I'll make brave—change
the course of my painful fate.
Until then give me lighters, and
razor blades.
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