I get in that zone, only one thing to do,
It’s a place that I never want to go back to,
I hold the cold metal blade in my hand,
The depressing pain is something I can withstand,
In a way this is a skeleton key to my emotions,
Every now and then I love to take in that metallic potion,
It slides across my skin going deeper and deeper,
If I cut deep enough I will soon see the reaper,
Each scar a distant memory of my horrible past,
Each time I do it I hope it will be my last,
If I do it enough I will soon end up dead,
The pain is charting my future for what lies ahead,
In the end it’s nothing more than regret,
It’s an action that I wish I could forget,
But I now will no longer feel that pain,
The memories are nothing more than an old blood stain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem