This is a poem about a battle that i recently had with myself when i wanted to cut myself. Cutting for those who are not familiar with it, is a way to release the "demons" so to speak when you are feeling manic. Its not a proper way to act though. I have done it a lot recently and i am trying not to do it anymore however. This poem outlines that fight.

KILLING - 11/16/09

th silver object is callin
my emotions are fallin
the blade wants to dance
it stands a good chance
to go toe to toe
its the way i know

turn on the right song
for the cut to go along
dont tell me its wrong
when it feels so right

its gonna be okay
a couple of swings to fillet
a spot on my hand
is it okay, is this the plan?

but she will question
staring me down with concern
my torn flesh, i can hear the burn
screaming my name

the blade in hand
the feeling will be grand
the music feels so good
accepting me for who & what i am

CUT ME YOU WEAK FUCK
CUT ME NOW YOU SAD FUCK
WHY DO YOU GIVE A FUCK
a living person void of luck
CUT ME NOW, LET THE BLADE GET STUCK

it will start to spot
after the few first swipes
next step it will start to drip
my mind is startin to slip
eyes turn from blue to red
lying down in my sad bed

share my misery with everyone
look at this, i did this
so i reach my hand in the draw
fighting myself for salvation
killing sadness via imagination

Tags: Depression Mental Illness Poem

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