Thu, 05/16/2013 - 13:16 -- Woodsie

As she looked down at the scars of massacres on her wrist
The tears teased the back of her throat;
The monsters inside were screaming to be set free
Just use the blade one more time
Let the blood flow willingly.
But no, she wouldn’t fall this time.
She’d hold strong, hold her own
And maybe, she’d be fine.
It took more strength than she thought she had
To put the razor away
But there was something deep inside of her
“Be strong, be free”
A voice would say.
All those nights spent
Scarring her body
Crying bloody tears
Screaming at the top of her lungs
Her emotions and skin
Becoming mangled and torn.
Her friends saw one day
And asked her why she tortured herself so
She had no reply, no way to answer
They wouldn’t understand
Why she had troubles letting go.
Her whirlwind world would come to an end
All nights of agony would be gone
She fought for years; a bloody battle
Taking battle scars of ugliness
But still, she fought that losing battle.
But yet, she won and broke the shackles.
It took one virtue to set her free
Courage, my friends, to spread her wings.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741