Sometimes its one thing, Sometimes its nothing
Morning and evening the thought makes my adrenaline rush
It builds up and then explodes like a volcano.

The marks maybe visible or not
Its called self injury or self harm
Pills, cuts, blood and bruising whatever to calm.

Control, power and punishment is the game
Something that you can see and feel the pain
Anger is replaced by relief for a time
The need for pain becomes an addiction.

To the outside world its not understood
And others it will be unknown
hiding the evidence, its a secret
I know its wrong, but it feels so right.
 
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