It is hot when the blade cuts,
comfort, letting out, my blood.
It hurts, but also feels good.
I want to let it all out.
Why does life have to hurt so?
Attachment. Followed by loss.
No matter how it will end,
it will be sad, and tragic,
so I embraced the darkness.
Now it won’t let go its grip.
Stalking me, relentlessly,
on a determined mission.
It’s a curse I gave myself.
Nobody else I can blame,
for unleashing this demon.
I crave my own dripping blood,
addicted to the red beast.
Yet the greater mind prevails,
and I resist the urges,
at least while I have the strength.
How long can I keep it up?
This battle I am fighting.
Only time has the answer.
Momentum is on my side,
there will be bumps in the way.
Oscilating. Hope. Sadness.
Is the beast only behind?
Does he lie in wait ahead?
The answer? Time is silent.
It does not foretell my path.
Only in death, or failure,
will I ever know for sure.
Poetry
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Your ability to share your stuggles in poetry is raw and powerful. In battling anything, I always remember that years are just days strung together, days only hours, and hours only minutes, so each second that I win adds up and has the potential to last a lifetime. Great piece, and keep writing!
Thank you so much for both the kind words and the good advice. I will keep writing and wish you the best too. Thank you! 🙂