Depression, Poetry

Cut And Slash


When no one once again cares about you,
You begin to rediscover a disturbing truth.
The truth is no one gives a fuck what you do.
Nobody cares if you kill yourself and that’s true.
‘Cause the people who I thought were my family left me alone to rot.
They simply up and left me in my self-destructive knot.

I walk around a house full of strangers.
I don’t even need to hide my scars, they don’t even think it’s dangerous.
The woman I loved laughed at my situation.
She didn’t even care about my miserable disposition.

So I use a blade as company so I wouldn’t be blue.
I keep him close to me, just in case I have a job for him to do.
I pick him up, place him on top of my skin and I slash away my pain.
I’ve got nothing lose anyways and I’ve got nothing to gain.

As the blades cut through my skin,
Familiar wounds are reopened once again.
The cuts bleed out all the misery and pain.
They provide a temporary release from suffering and maim.

They hurt, but they’re like a drug to me.
A drug that numbs my heartaches as I harm myself physically.
In exchange for slashing myself and I bleed somewhat profusely,
It’s a drug that relaxes my problems and anxiety.

I cut myself because no one truly cares.
They only think about themselves and that seems to be fair.
So I’ll just stay in my prison until I fall into despair.
I’ll talk to the demons who came back for me from hell.


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