Marks Upon My Arm

Copyright, Tom

My knife is my escape,
Running along my arm,
Patterns and different shapes,
All to keep me calm.

Suicide is not a thought,
Only wanting to harm,
These demons that this life has bought,
All to keep me calm.

The scars are my reminder,
My sleeve pulled up my arm.
Her ignorance has blinded her.
All to keep me calm

But somehow I don’t want to stop,
as that would make it a curse.
And if I did, I’d surley not live
and my knife would make that worse.

The people who are not involved
Could never keep me calm.
That’s what my knife and I have told
These marks upon my arm.


Copyright, Tom

Lost in my wounds, I try to find
Any reasoning at all, that could lay behind
These thoughts and actions that are anything but kind
To those that surround me, and those in my mind.

An urge is the starting line, and if all else does fail,
I know deep inside that my knife will prevail.
Not wanting their attention, only to the detail
And if I wanted to leave, on my blood I would sail.

Never leaving my side, never leaving my arm.
The deeper I go, the more it looses it’s charm
Not wanting to stop, not wanting to dissarm,
And that my friend, is the bitter cirlcle of self harm.


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