PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I hate to ask for help, it's something I just can't do
I can't take stress and fear, so instead I make myself feel pain
The pain clears my head as I lay quiet in my bed
Hours of pain and silence, become all I want and need
Of crying and creating wounds and scars
I come to think of it as my own sport
" How many cuts tonight?" or " How many burns?"
It's all the same to me, pain of any sort
It helps me, makes me feel and forget
Lasts so short a time, I begin once more
I repeat this over and over, letting blood flow free
More and more, day after day
When I can't take it anymore
I let it go with the pain, my blood, my life