TRIGGERING
Don't hold strong opinions about things you don't understand.
I bleed for you that's why I cut those simple scars are just deep thoughts.
That's the problem with cutting. Once you start, you can't stop. It's addicting, cutting is my drug. It serves its purpose perfectly. Once I cut, I forget about everything that has been wrong. All that is left is my concentration on my cut. I forget about everything but the pain. Pain has become my world. --- ConcretAngel
How will you know I am hurting, If you cannot see my pain? To wear it on my body Tells what words cannot explain.
That was when I cut my arms with a razor blade as a means of creative expression. I only did it lightly, just grazing the skin, to see the way the blood would bleed out, to make myself look tougher. Not like some of those kids who keep going deeper and deeper, wondering what they look like down to the bone, because it's a world that's so close and yet so far and so dangerous and so much their own. The only world that is their own.
The razor moves along her wrist like a river, so peacefully, as that red water starts to escape, its hard to make it stop.
Every word, another scar, Some people say I cut for attention, Attention is the last thing I want, I tell them I've got my reasons, But what they don't know is, They are the reason I cut, I walk the halls and people talk, Their harsh words cut in deep, Don't they know what they're doing, Every word they say is another scar on my wrist.
As she's breaking down she grabs her razor and she whispers... this time I'm not okay...
I never knew that one singe blade could mess up my life...
Cutting doesn't solve anything or take the pain away, but for those few seconds everything is Okay...
Some times in stead of cutting an X on my wrist I make a cross so that the Lord can forgive me for destroying my body, and I also pray that the pain stops as the blood slowly drips onto my sheets.
Crimson tears run down my arm, All the pain and all the harm. My only way to let it out, I wanna scream, I wanna shout. But I don’t make a sound, I keep it inside. I wanna break out, but instead I hide. I sit in my room, and hide in my shell, The life that I’m living, my own private hell. The crimson tears, down my arm they run. I look down at my arm, what have I done? --- Bleedinginside
Let the blood run down your arms then try and tell me everything's okay.
I take the blade and run it gently against my skin, it cuts in deeper and deeper, the blood bursts out and slowly runs down my arm then it stops and the pain goes away.