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Broken
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Self-Harm I've been told I'm not broken,
but what does it mean to be whole?
People who are whole don't do the things I have,
don't see things as I have.
I've been lost in the shadows for so long,
searching for a light.
I've felt heartache so wrenching,
it took every bit of strength to not give up.
Promises are empty,
they mean nothing to me anymore.
Songs help me express my thoughts,
my poems release my feelings.
If I was whole, would I cry,
would I cut my arms,
wanting the scars to show
wanting to see the blood flow freely.
Whole people don't have nightmares,
don't go to mental hospitals.
If I was whole,
then why would I want to die?
I have this vision sometimes,
a picture in my head.
It comes to me when I'm alone,
broken and lost in shadows.
Sitting in a bathtub,
water running from the faucet,
and I sit alone against the wall.
My knees are pulled against my chest,
arms wrapped around them.
Blood travels down my legs,
mixing with the blood coming from my wrists.
I sit there silently,
watching the water kiss away the drops of blood.
I can't be whole,
I know I must not be.
Would a whole person want this,
want to feel that kiss of a blade,
crave it as I do?
I'm losing myself,
trying to hold onto something,
to keep myself from falling.
If I fall again,
do I have the strength to get back up?
For once in my life,
I wish I was whole,
wish I could be free of the darkness.
The dark was once my home,
a place I grew to know.
I want to be free of it,
but is it too late to live again?
Just once I wish my wings weren't so torn,
that I could be able to fly again.
But I'll never reach the light,
when the dark has broken me.
