My Personal High
By PenToPaper •
I used to solve my problems
With a sharp knife in my hand.
Gripping the monster
Hoping for the pain.
My only solution,
And my only friend.
Living in a fantasy
Where pain felt better than love.
My own personal high
That no one can see.
It made me feel safe,
So I never wanted to stopped.
Addicted to the touch
Of the conflicting knife.
I never ended my life,
But it killed a part of my soul.
The scars are still visible
To remind me of my past.
They help me stay closed off.
They support my walls.