Bloodstained Kisses

A poem about cutting and the effects it has on me. . .

The shiny, silver blade,
The soft, pale skin.
Why do I need
To do this again?

The crimson tears
Begin to flow.
Why am I doing this?
Do you know?

It’s a physical release,
To the emotional pain locked inside.
Like the sea releasing tension
In its many moonlit tides.

Temptation to push harder
Is always there,
Daring me to see
How much you really care.

The lines tell a story
Of my horrid past.
The scars are always there
To remind me of what will be at last.

Time may stop,
And your memory could fade.
But for me, it’s always there,
Until in my grave, I am laid.