cutting self harm depression theatre theater acting
Learn more about other poetry terms
My hand shot up and before I even realized what it entailed I heard my name being called.
“Max!”
FUCK
There is something about the cold,still air
That made your senses sharpen
And suddenly, you see every hair on your arm, standing up
And feel small bumps infecting your skin,
I remember standing on that stage
Before thousands of parents and peers
Performing the role of a cutter
And the irony of it all;
How effortlessly I could be myself
