Wrists
The blood, the pain... relief?
Of pressure, stress, and grief?
From all your problems and friends?
With the blade, the pain ends?
With a glide, the blood trickles,
And all the emotion stiffles,
But after that relief is gone,
Do you see what you did wrong?
Do the scars even mean a thing?
Do you remember the painful sting?
Do your troubles really fade?
Or are they just hidden by the blade?
Or is it that you just want to die?
So you sit there, bleeding, and cry?
Is life really that painfully hard,
That you are willing to be scarred?
So just talk to someone, and let them hear,
Because, close by, there is a listening ear.
So next time all the pain persists,
Don't take it out on your wrists!