I'm Alone, and No One's Here to Stop Me

Out among the midnight air

It can be so hard to breathe.

The capacity of simple lungs

Too small for this terrible crying

And this screaming

And throwing things around.

When will I be enough?

When will I be able to stand this pain?

Crying should be good for you

But it just makes me worse

Until I do what I really need.

When I feel my need

I must hurry

For the need is dire.

What happens if I'm too late?

Does anything matter

If I'm too late?

I'll do it, just deeper.

A shining piece of metal

And for once I'm too late.

I'm alone, and no one's here to stop me.

Reviews

[Patrick Henry]

I don't miss cutting. I miss "leaving" when I did. But, I didn't cut like my friends did with all these 100's of strikes agin their flesh and of the like. Some went down to the bone, cut off their fingertips at times like I did, and some would slice open a part of their flesh and slide hot metal objects under the skin and just shove it in their, sometimes sewing it up with it inside. I think the "cutting" that I hear of now, is actually kind of cute in a way. lol It's not life-threatening, but it's destructive and because it lasts until you are an adult and into old age, one would assume that this person is one of the weakest people they have ever met because the story is written all over them!! : ) I have even had girls do it to ME so they wouldn't do it to themselves. They were so beautiful and would not hear of it, so I KEPT them beautiful by giving myself up as they pleased. I cut take it, too. These were not simple little cute strokes of a very fine razor blade. These were done with things like broken knives, glass, metal rulers, brick, and pigeon bones because no one expects that bones are used for anything, but weird things to be caught with and thrown out!! lol So, we spin, breathe, and perform as normal citizens when all along we are on fire inside, and suffering greater than we let on about. Like hurting myself, no one respecting what I've said in my youth seemed to matter to anyone, so my conditioning remained with me. You are alone and you're right.... no one is there to stop you.... IF you wish to NOT be stopped. I didn't want to be stopped. I wanted to be caught and not get into trouble for it, for something to replace it that didn't involve drugs or death, and move. I always wanted to move because I thought I was a product of my environment. Even at the age of 7 or 8, I was being asked to leave the house in the Summer at about 8am, can come back for noon to eat and drink outside if something was waiting for me, and then come back home around 5pm or so to stay out of my mom's way. If I chose to stay in side, it had to be all day and I had to clean throughout the day!! So, I lit fires, make mock murders of someone killing me and keeping me captive, going for the longest walks ever, almost drowning a few times because we lived next to the river, took naps inside the hollows of old trees, and disappeared daily. My mom was and is the most social chick ever, and I never felt so alone as I did when I was young, Taylor. xoxox -Mark

[THIS ACCOUNT IS CLOSED]

i like this poem, cuz I like the feel of the cold blade, as it runs accross your skin like a methodical lover wanting to claim you. its dark and deep. I dont cut anymore but I still kinda miss it sometimes... Great poem