This Monster...

a certain instinct.
it takes over me.
im anxious and worried
i dont want anyone else to see.
have you ever cut,
just for the thrill?
the rush of the sting?
the flow of the blood?
the nerves sending signals of pain,
the pain you've become attached to?
it started out slow,
not a hobby, just a n.e.e.d.
you only caress the blade when you're sad
and on your blood it feeds.
you became sad more often,
finding your bed becoming a coffin.
the razor chewed through your flesh
bringing its sweet relief so you could rest.
but now... you don't have a direct reason to cut
life may not be perfect, but the door of depression is shut.
little problems here and there, you use them as excuses
lying to yourself over and over again, but it's useless.
this monster inside you, you have created yourself
in the back of your head the monster will always lay.
she whispers small reasons for the blade and you let her stay.
but this scares you the most, d-e-e-p down inside you...
you like it this w a y . . .