REAL STORIES
BY REAL PEOPLE Search
Tuesday, October 17, 2017

cutting -- one of my drugs

by taking off the mask (writer), Los Angeles, March 22, 2010

Being aware of someones pain can sometimes help stop them from self inflicting pain and the violence to come. This poem may be far fetched but the idea isn't.

I open my mouth

words come falling out

but only the walls hear them

my minds on automatic now

thoughts like trains

colliding into each others lanes

boiling blood

eager to melt my veins

ready to stain my sink

with velvet water

a substitute for my tears

I refuse to cry

always have

instead I cut designs

on my lower arm

cutting is one of my drugs

I am addicted

I feel relieved

but only for a moment

I feel safe

but from what?

Surely not myself

not while I have the ability to cut

my life away

in one easy slit

on the fresh skin

that covers my wrists

my logic is twisted

no doubt about it

but so is the media's

and no one calls them out on it

what if the world was perfect

and G-D didn't exist

or would that be destruction

people seem to say the opposite

but I can't agree

suffering isn't a crime

it's not a contradiction of G-D

it's a proof

what kind of world would it be

without suffering

where would kindness fit in

and pity take place

suffering is G-Ds will

it's not his mistake

“so why” you may ask

“do you self inflict pain”

all I can suggest is that perhaps I'm insane

there's enough blood

and tears

to cover the earth's surface

I contribute the blood

but the tears I hold in

keep them for when I need them

my blood is on low

and meth's poison flows

the feeling of faint

grabs hold of me

the air I gasp for

is too thin for me

then I cry

one single tear

and I wake up body spread on the bathroom floor

my arms like window shades

small slits covering them

I get up and take a tissue

wet it with water

and wipe away all the red on the pure white tiles

I hear my family's chatter and laughter

coming from the main floor

no one cares where I've been for the last...

I'm not quite sure

how long was I blacked out for?

For sure more than a while

Maybe it's my call for attention

or a plea for help

but they ignore the signs

are blind to the designs

unaware of the drug's dust in the air

I wish I could damage them

show them how it feels

see if they notice then

or are still oblivious to the pain

that lives inside my brain

they are all stuck up

so involved in their own lives

but what about me

do any of you care

or am I just the freak next door

I look in the mirror

and see a site which frightens me

no soul lyes beneath my eyes

I breath slowly trying not to cry

I grab the knife

and run down the stairs

like a mad woman

I stab away

the knife hits flesh

screams erupt

voices turn into running foot steps

not sure who is being hurt

my eyesight is blurred

the sound of bodies hitting the floor

can be heard

my father grabs my wrist

and twists it

knocks me to the floor

how did I end up here

I'm not sure

next thing I know is I'm being taken away

the cops have a bag of meth in their hands

they claim its mine

but drugs are dangerous

I never used them

have I?

O shit I am insane

I see two bodies being carried on stretchers

my father is crying

what the heck did I do?

I wish I knew



About the Writer

taking off the mask is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
Want to write articles too? Sign up & become a writer!

0 comments on cutting -- one of my drugs



Add A Comment!

Click here to signup or login.


Rate This Article


Your vote matters to us



x


x