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The Worthless

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It runs down my pale arm,
Shaping each jabbing bone.
I go deeper and deeper.
I sigh as my pain fades.
Or does it?
I’m confused,
I’m hurt—inside and out.
My heart aches for what I’ve long forgotten.
A feeling of anything but this endless sadness.
I don’t know who to talk to—where to turn.
The silver of my savior gleams in the dim light.
I let my lifeline run until I feel weak.
I put pressure on the thin, line that screams out for attention.
Not today, I say.
Not today.
No tears for me now,
I’m empty.
Used them all up, I guess.
I cried for so long,
And I ache for that time,
Long for it.
Pine for it.
To feel that sobbing sadness tugging at my soul would be better than this.
To feel so empty.
So gone.
Like any emotion or soul I had has just disappeared.
Why me?
I’m not perfect like them
They call me names.
“Goth, emo, loser, punk, cutter, jerk, unloved.”
I’m too fat.
Too ugly.
I can’t fit in, can’t be like them.
I’m all alone.
No one notices my bruises or care about my pain.
No one wants me.
The scars run up and down my arms,
Up and down my mind and my heart.
Another scar that tells a chapter,
Chapters that weave the story of my life.
I’m worthless.
I tried to be happy,
But it hurts.
I close my eyes and rock back and forth, begging myself to get up and go on.
I don’t listen.
I never do.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me…
That’s what they tell us,
What they say.
Yeah, right.



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