RazorbladesMature

A poem about self-harm

The piercing pain of my fathers razorblade,
satisfies my icy layered heart
The contact with the sharpness on my skin
is orgasmic, knowing that i'm in control,

The feeling is a sick compassion
Like two immortal souls connecting,
Like a sparrow, overjoyed with its prey
Like the killers murder of the innocent

I cannot compare this passion to anything,
It's more than euphoria
More than orgasmic
More than pride

Pride
Pride
Is just something I cannot feel
No matter how much I long to

Love
Love
Something I will never understand
Too humiliating, too catastrophic

Hate
Hate
I live for hate; the negativity shoots through my veins
The tears, the angst of an enemy pleasures

The End

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