I’ve morphed myself into a trance as I search for my friend <br />I find him in a drawer, shining silver and sharp <br />While lifting it I remove the safety cap <br />And as I draw it across me, I feel nothing <br />I finally get what I deserve, a slice, a cut, a tare <br />But it’s not enough <br />I pull and press the skin apart and together <br />I bleed <br />I drift <br />I’m not finished, I’m addicted <br />I go again, and again, a hundred times if that’s what it takes <br />I can’t feel it <br />What’s happened, what’s wrong, what did I do <br />I never wanted to be this way <br />And while it disgusts me I feel releaved <br />I no longer feel sorry for things I’m not sorry for.<br /><br />Abby Wesson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-m-so-sick-of-being-sorry-about-things-i-m-not/
