I tried to stop again, and as usual it didn’t work. I scarred myself this time cuz i cut a little deeper than i usually do and i didn’t have anything to keep the blood from getting all over my sheets. i grabbed the first thing i saw. it was a scrap sheet of paper with this unfinished poem on it. i thought it was kind of ironic and chose not to finish it.

I was almost there; i was ever so close
but then i got scarred, i wanted one more dose

one more dose of my blade, one more drop of blood
to join the scars i made, my thoughts in the mud

Everytime i tried to speak, i couldn’t get it out
my mouth, too weak, alone i scream and shout.