Melted Down

If I etched my pain out on my wrist,
then, would you see how I really feel?
With the bleeding drops of tears,
My pain desloves.

It melts down into a pool of peace,
the blood fills it more and more,
with each cut bled.
After every cut, my life goes on.

Every night, I lie awake,
my arm tingling for a blade.
I always drive a blade through my skin,
allowing it to bleed.

I allow myself to suffer.
I allow myself to die.
I allow everything bad in my life to win.
I allow myself to be let down.

With every day lived without a razorblade's
bite, I suffer more and more.
But with this suffering,
I will heal.