A poem I wrote about 5/6 years ago.
Concido (To Fail)
A million pale lines,
Wrist to shoulder,
Shoulder to wrist,
All the way up,
All the way down.
I trace them with my fingertip,
Every single one.
Each is a reminder
Each a "note to self",
To not be so stupid next time.
So sick of feeling like this
Night and day
Every waking moment
And every dreaming hour.
Sick of feeling so useless,
So hopeless,
So lost,
So damn inadequate.
Desperate for a moments relief,
Just a little release.
So,
Here's the choice,
March straight on,
Or back right down.
Give up,
Or be strong.
So what do I do?
I ignore every pale line, that's what,
Each one etched into my skin.
I reach for that blade aga.
That tiny inanimate object I've come to hate so much.
That tiny inanimate object I've relied upon for so long.
For a moments peace of mind
The price of innocence must be paid.
Blood drips,
Tissues litter the floor, stained red.
With each drip of blood a tear is close behind.
Stupid, stupid girl.
