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.