These Lines...

These lines that mark my wrist,

I am not proud of.

 

All they ever do for me,

Is haunt me-

Torment me!

 

I feel,

So deeply ashamed of myself,

When I gaze upon my scars,

Of horrid past.

 

Sometimes life,

It feels like it is too much to bear,

It feels like...

One thousand open cuts,

Soaked in bleach.

It truly hurts.

 

Sometimes I wish I were dead,

But others, I wish I wasn't.

My mood seems to be trapped,

In an endless roller coaster-

Going up, then coming down hard,

Then back up again.

Not only does it confuse me,

It irritates.

 

These scars,

I wish they weren't there.

They only remind me,

Of the pain,

And the blood-

The crimson droplets that dried to my wrist. 

 

So these lines,

As much as I hate them,

They must stay,

And torment me for eternity.

 

For eternity...