I wrote this to represent the addictive nature of self-harm/cutting….
A simple heart.
A life to live.
So much help and talent to give.
But beneath it all,
Such pain was masked.
Hope slipped away as she tried to grasp.
Too little too late.
No one seemed to care.
Now softly crying, she’s kneeling there.
Wrapping her arms in a crimson blanket.
Knowing with each slice,
She really hates it.
Holding the blade with trembling hands
Soon his captive she becomes.
Screaming ‘No please stop!’ she jerks away, but soon finds out she cannot run.
Not only her arm, but her heart he has.
She begs and pleads but no one hears.
The only company, this small, sharp master; the only sound, her falling tears.