I hear them.
They’re talking about me.
Whispering soft, hurtful things,
Things meant to hurt, to anger, but
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
I gaze into the darkness,
Deep dark thoughts enter my head,
The pain blurs everything
The world is a dark color, but
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
I look at the razor,
Sharp, shiny, ready
It longs for me and I long for it
It’s meant to hurt, to scar, but
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
Cold, hard metal on me,
I can no longer feel anything,
Neither seeing, nor touching
The life drips out of me,
I’m ready…
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
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