~Shades of the mind~

-33-

Better.
That's what you think I am.
Just because I have no blades,
No alcohol,
No lighters,
No rope.

I'm n o t.
It doesn't make me better.
It just makes my skin itch,
My throat burn,
And my heart heavy.

Broken.
That's a better word for what I am.
When I'm nervous,
My hands constantly scratch at my neck,
My wrists,
My thighs.

Pathetic.
I can't even eat a decent meal,
Without having my fingers,
down my throat,
Ten minutes later.

But I suppose it's my own fault.
I won't admit,
I need help again.
I'll let you believe,
Because you'll feel better.

"How do you feel?"
You ask me,
"A lot better."
I say,
With bright red wrists.

The truth of this is killing me 😫