PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

i tear the skin to feel the pain

and once again for crimson rain

then deeper still to feel me fade

so though my thoughts i no longer wade

to slow the thoughts i part my skin

to kill the pain i feel within

or make me feel when i am numb

or take my anger out on me instead of some

other person who i'd rather not hurt

i know how it is to be treated like dirt

and so i rage against myself

and take the blade down off the shelf

and rip asunder my scared skin

and die alone, in mortal sin

if god were real he'd help me out

if there was a devil i'd hear his shout

telling me to just let go

but none of this is rightly so

i do not feel satans pull

i do not feel god's blinding wool

im not a sheep, not part of the herd

i just wish my shouts were being heard

by someone who knows what to do

i wish i could start it all anew

but nothings gonna change it all

nothings gonna stop my fall

into hell and into my little razorblade tryst

and i no longer care for the comfort it gives