This High Doesn't Last
12 January, 2005
Author: The Lost Girl
My despair has grown,
my senses I don't own,
I can no longer feel,
the things that helped me heal.
The blade against my skin,
doesn't let me win.
I can no longer feel the shooting pain,
now my misserable life is left in vain.
Where is the quickining rush,
that I use to feel with every cold touch?
Where is the temporary release,
that use to give me temporary peace.
The blood was my joyous high,
it used to help me just get by.
Now that this high doesn't really last,
I'm left dying here, thinking of my past.
Thinking of my happy days,
when everything was just a game.
Keeping my life going for much longer,
won't help me heal or grow any stronger.
------- Author's Notes -------
This Poem is about how cutting use to give me the same high as a person on drugs, it made me feel alive, but after so long, the high weakens until it's gone. |
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| SARA (65.37.85.197) -- Thursday, March 31 2005, 01:22 am omg i really loved your poem!!!! it made me realize i'm not the only one in the world who cuts them selves!!!! i just loved it!!! |
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