Ring The Alarm

These cuts on my body are from self harm. Instead of screaming out, I cut myself and watch the blood stream out. As the endorphins release I'm subdued and soothed. Feeling much like I'm overlooked and ignored, the only thing I can control are these cuts. One cut for my mom who pays me no attention, one cut for the father who is missing in action, and another cut for the students at school who laugh and taunt me because I can't do fractions. This is my form of self medication and while its not a drug it's still as addictive. I'm addicted to the rush I feel, when I get the first gush from the first cut. Oh how I love that sensation. I want to stop, need to stop, but I can't resist the temptation. The temptation to open my flesh and let my emotions pour out like tears. It eases my fears and draws me nearer to myself cuz I'm the only one who understands me best. I've got it bad. My arms, legs and hands show the battle scars from the internal war I'm fighting with myself. A Razor, knife, or scissors are my choice of weapon to fight the inner demons that seem to keep screaming. Screaming at me to do it and get it over with. Ring the alarm! Ring the alarm! I'm slowly killing myself with self harm. Take all these sharp objects away from me,  I'm not strong enough to resist the urge to purge my feelings through blood.