Self harm is serious. Five cuts or a hundred, scratches or deep wounds, barely visible or scars for life. The pain that a person feels who takes that blade to their skin is not determined by the seriousness of their scars. They all kill their pain with pain. Every cut tells a story, and behind every single one of them lays more pain than someone from the outside could ever begin to understand. The smallest scratch can hold hours of tears and hatred; the frustration and hopelessness can't be measured in blood. They will all see their reflection in the mirror and every day be reminded of what they have done to themselves. They will all make excuses for wearing long sleeves or not going for a swim. They will all know both the reliefs and the regrets of this brutal addiction. Self harm is a disease of the mine, and the amount of scars on the outside does not show the amount of suffering on the inside.
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Hello
PoetryA collection of poems and stories for the broken, lost, afraid, recovery, heartbroken, depressed, and many more. *Trigger warning possibly for some of these*
