It feels as if everything is filling up inside me like a balloon. And I’m about to burst into a thousand tiny pieces. Until I take that blade and press is up against my skin and feel the pressure leak out, feel the warm think blood running down my palm, falling to the floor in bulging drops of deep red. I can’t help but to think of what would happen if I let my self burst, or let too much air out. I just need someone to help me untie the knot, without the pain. To release the pressure, without the blade. But there’s know here, and I fear I’ll burst. And there’ll be know one to shed a tear, and that is the worst.
I can’t do this anymore. Too stressed and no one to talk to. I haven’t hurt myself for almost a month now. And I’m proud. But its just too hard. I can’t hold it in, can’t hold back. I used to be so much better at this. But Im losing at my own game and it just kills me to think about anything.
Rubber bands, Rubber bands
Oh how I hate thee.
You’re alright when you’re holding my hair in place. And needed when I’m having trouble dealing in public, I can just slap you against my wrist until I bleed.
But rubber bands, rubber bands
Oh how I hate thee
When you’re on my teeth.