[center][color=#DF0101][b]Warning[/b][/color]
This poem talks about depression, suicide, and self-harm. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this. 
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[hider=I Scratch At My Flesh Out Of Habit]
I scratch at my flesh out of habit. 
The scar breaks, spilling crimson over my pale skin. 
I did it again. I ruined myself, once again. 
I watch as the blood drips down my arm, spilling onto the floor. 
Another scar to add to the collection. 

They tell me it’s okay. 
That it’s worth it. 
That I’m so lucky I survived.

I don’t think so.

I blink and the blood disappears, the only remnants of my past a long scar from wrist to elbow.

Every day I wish I hadn’t been saved.
Every day I absentmindedly pick at my skin, thinking, “Why?”
Every day I look at my mother, cursing her for picking up the phone.

Why bother saving me? I’m not worth it.

I’m unlovable.
I’m cursed.
I’m despicable.

I deserve to suffer and fade away, unremembered.

Every day I look out my window, thinking about the things I should stay around for.
Every day I run my fingers over my scar, wondering, “Why did I do this to myself?”
Every day I look at my mother, tears forming in my eyes and a thank you on my lips.

They love me regardless of my failures,

My thoughts.
My mistakes.
My sins.

They remind me I deserve happiness and love.
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[hider=Reading Link]
[url]https://youtu.be/UKYHDSD6mQo[/url]
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