This is a rather depressing poem that I wrote a while ago, back in the day when I used to self-harm.
I hid my hands behind my back,
So no-one else could see.
The blood and tears have stained my skin,
The guilt burns holes through me.
I dreamed that you came up to me,
One of my dark, cold days.
You placed a finger on my lips,
And softly to me say:
"My Dearest Love, look in my eyes,
Why do I see such pain?
The guilt I see inside of you,
It should not be contained."
A single tear slides down my cheek,
No othe...
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