I by no means am the voice of reason,
I merely amplify your thoughts and feelings.
I jot them down in rythmical lines on a page,
So those who have no clue are able to engage
With what it feels like to have a head full of war,
To experience the agro of your heart and mind being torn.
So this one's for them, it goes out to you who fail to understand,
Why someone would tear, rip, burn and cut the skin above their hand.
It acts as a drug, a release, a soother, a suppressor,
The more it occurs, the more it is mistaken for as pleasure.
As with every drug, it comes with its addiction,
Even when the mind is clear, there's a crave for that burning friction.
You point people out and mock them for being a victim of themselves,
Without a sense of the stability regarding their mental health.
What if it was your sister, brother, cousin, mother or dad?
What if your mocking is responsible for some of the scars they have?
How about instead of judging you reduce their need for the knife?
Go and be a decent human, go and save a life.
Fayedaway
ProblemSolved
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