If wrists are to be cut, let them bleed out.
Deeper and deeper, the mind drowns in its own thoughts.
The sharp words roll off of his judgmental tongue with poisonous strikes on the damaged heart.
As the mind worsens, so does the urges to inflict.
As crimson streaks form through the pale flesh,
Materials are stained.
The tasteful buds wash away the pain inflicted
And the day goes on without anyone knowing that there was pain being experienced.
Just a young adult sharing the words that echo inside my mind.