Strong urges today, to cut. Urges I have faced, somewhat. Boredom, pathetic, I know, The dark place it makes me go.
I’m not planning to give in, not out of fear that it’s sin, but because I do love me, I tire of wanting to flee.
So I am holding my ground. Suffering without a sound. One more day I must get through, Then another follows too.
The writing, it stays my blade. Pulls me from the darkest shade. Keeps my skin from a new scar. It takes my hope nice and far.
Writing for me, and for you. But now it is nothing new. In the end that is okay, It still gets me through the day.