Voices rage within my numb mind,
My concentration strains for one that is kind.
A hopeless search for some audible comfort,
Over the insults, the slurs and the conflict.
A focus that wavers through the pointless venture,
Of a positive comment of the past, present of even future.
Hours of contemplating but to no avail,
Another manner in which I will always fail.
To achieve, to believe, to enjoy or to smile,
Seems a concept that I’ve not grasped in a while.

A mind that is poisoned by darkness and grief,
Could never muster the energy for the fallacy of belief.
Instead it races for a solution, a cure or a stall,
Again failure looms until you recall,
A technique, an action that has eased the cold ice,
Of numbness; if you do it one or twice.
So simple, so effective, but yet such a taboo,
Apparently cutting yourself isn’t the best thing to do.
But how could they ever understand why?
They don’t see the dark suffocating your minds eye.
They don’t know the pain, the hurt nor the fight,
That you already faced before you gathered your might
To take action in the only way to make progress,
Although knowing that really it doesn’t make it hurt less.
A distraction at best, is all you can hope for,
Perhaps more this time? One can never be sure.
Logically; it’s the only thing that makes sense;
So no need to stall now or sit on the fence.
Pick up the knife and choose your first cut;
But you can’t stop there; you start to glut.
The red droplets fall soon forming a flow,
Incisions placed carefully so you don’t have to show.