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The population would be amazed if they knew just how many people use self-harm as a coping strategy. But self-harm can build and build and go further.


Me_at_lleisiau_2by SJ Alexanderson21 Nov 2013

It started with needles and brass drawing pins,
She wanted to hurt herself – pay for her sins.
She liked to feel pain – they called her a whore,
So she’d punish herself behind her locked door.

No tramp though was she (and neither a slag),
The feelings she had did not make her a bag.
Confusion it reigned in this teenagers’ head
For no lovers had lain in her virginal bed.

She wondered of love, how it felt in real life…
The taunts drove her on to deep cuts with a knife.
She loved her friend Stanley right down to the bone…
And worshipped her King – it was pain on the throne.

She’d touch herself sometimes (confused by the pleasure),
Unsure what was down there – was it filth? Was it treasure?
It made her feel dirty, it made her feel dark
So she’d open a wound up to leave a new mark.

Mixed up and neglected – a victim of hate,
She abhorred her tormentors, she abhorred her fate,
But she hid all the scarring so they wouldn't know
She was drowning in turbulent waters of woe.

Then one day she decided to leave life behind…
Through the simmering rage she had lost all her mind.
She took her friend Stanley and slashed at her throat
Then lay on the floor in her new, crimson coat.