Self-harm

one cut here, once cut there

no one will see, so why do they care?

i’ll keep it to myself,

hidden and all,

“have you cut recently”

“no, i don’t recall”

one turns to two, and two turns to four,

then i just keep cutting more and more.

twenty then thirty, i’m losing control

cutting comes with a price, similar to a toll.
one hundred then two, who would’ve guessed

the secrets that she kept hidden,

beneath that long dress.

sweatpants for now, until those cuts heal,

a heart made of gold, but a brain made from steel.

i’ll do it again, just wait and see,

i’ll never get through recovery.

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