Cutting Is A Practice That Has Crossed Age And Gender Lines
My Daughter knows a young lady who cuts herself often. The depth of pain and emotional turmoil for her friend is at times unbearable in her heart and mind. These feelings lead to the cutting of her arms. The following poem is by my daughter in order to bring awareness to a very sad and dark reality for many among us
Blacker Than White
They carve their sins into my bones with their cold tongues. I helplessly crumble as their emotionless eyes lap up my weakness.
I cling to my last bit of sanity as their voices control me.
Their sickening laughter, which rings through my ears, reminds me of a haunting death. Their nails, so sharp, slide down my arms and wrists.
My skin falls off like dead rose petals.
Hot tears start to gather under my chin as I go numb.
They are destroying me… No.
I’m destroying myself.
Who are they?
The whispers at night that compel me to stain my pale arm a scarlet red.
They are my memories, my living nightmares.
Someone help me, I’m choking on madness.
Drowning… I’m drowning.
By~Madison Blake Wright