This poem is first for all the people that i know who have had to deal with selfharm or any other issues , second for anyone out there who was brave enough to ask for help and thrid for all those people still suffereing in silence.
You called me an Angel, There must be a twist.
I've not seen an Angel with scars on her wrists,
Or blood seeping down from deep cuts in her arm.
Have you ever seen an Angel selfharm.
An Angel who writes about horror in hell,
And darkening poems with stories to tell.
I thought they were beautiful and flew with white wings,
My lullaby is not what an angel sings.
Welts of cruelty leaving their tread,
Skin not white but a glistening red.
My dress dress is stained, it's ripped and torn,
My eyes are dull, my expression is worn.
An Angel well surely they live without pain,
No crying or screaming or hurting again.
No strangled whispers of slow broken song.
An Angel you say, Im afraid you are wrong.
