Do they really know?
Cutting is never satisfying enough
If I had the chance to peel off my skin I would
Being dissected or ripped apart might take away this resentment towards myself
They want me to stay out of sympathy yet I would rather self destruct
I choose the path I can walk on yet I’m walking on a tight rope
More or less always hanging by a thread waiting for something to happen
Yet nothing peaks my interest so I stay there
pathetically ignorant
No one knows
It’s not a cry for help
I just want to be passionate about something
Perhaps the time will come when I actually care
If I had the chance to peel off my skin I would
Being dissected or ripped apart might take away this resentment towards myself
They want me to stay out of sympathy yet I would rather self destruct
I choose the path I can walk on yet I’m walking on a tight rope
More or less always hanging by a thread waiting for something to happen
Yet nothing peaks my interest so I stay there
pathetically ignorant
No one knows
It’s not a cry for help
I just want to be passionate about something
Perhaps the time will come when I actually care
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When I want to cry I physically can’t that sums it up.
Public Collections Containing This Poem
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The Room Was Blue
PoetAbigail Blacknall
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Alexithymia
PoetAbigail Blacknall
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