I don't cut
Quite hard enough,
Just enough to leave red lines
And small dots or blood.
But it hurts,
And that's what matters.
I turn the shower on,
Steam and cloudy humidity
Fills the room.
The water is hot.
My skin is pink
And painful.
My fingernails
Are short and
Chipped nail polished.
I bite them though,
More, until they hurt too much,
And I can barely move my fingers.
These are small,
Small,
Painful,
Satisfactions that
I
Need.
YOU ARE READING
Painful Truths
PoetryLife asked Death, "Why do people love me but hate you?" and Death replied, "Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth." (completed) Well. Poems, if you could call them that. Just rambled and rushed night time thoughts. Some of these a...
