Harm
A Poem
Scratching at my skin
Like it's soft sandpaper
The nail marks on my shins
Makes my stomach turn over.
Scabs over wounds
That I continue to pick.
I won't ever stop
Because I don't know how to quit.
Skin detaching from skin.
The blood starts to pool.
Why do I do this?
It is because my brain is so cruel.
There is no razor.
There is no knife.
All I need is a bug bite,
And I'm scratching for life.
Is there a way to stop?
Maybe, but I haven't been told
How to stop the feelings I cannot control.