Clutching My Cure

clutching my cure
with the door locked
inside myself, I stop
the truth is far behind
you cannot save my life

nothing more than a hollow
wasteland of plastic smiles
just look at me now
the nothing I’ve become
and it cannot be undone

I’m so far from myself
can’t break free from this spell
it’s driving me insane
over and over again

I cannot win this fight
I tried with all my might
I’ve lost all my friends
it’s time for the end

my cure is sharp and cold
a reflection of this empty life
my blood drips, it’s my cure
my savior, this knife

© Lily

Disclaimer: I wrote this years ago, and no, I don’t (and never did) cut myself. Sometimes it’s easier to write about pain than about happiness. Is that unusual? I do realize this poem needs a lot of work. There’s no set rhyme scheme and a bunch of other flaws. But hey, life is full of flaws…

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12 thoughts on “Clutching My Cure

  1. I know what you mean about it seeming to be easier to write about pain than happiness. Probably because (as sad as it sounds) we always hear so much about pain but rather little about happiness. Just take the news for example- 98% depressing stuff (or just plain weird and ridiculous) and 2% happy (or at least it doesn’t fall into the depressing category). Nevertheless, great poem! You got the point across which I think is the most important. 😉

  2. I know that plastic smile because I wore one for many years.. By the grace of something good, I never picked up a knife and was able to trade that fake smile for a real one.. Very moving poem Lily!

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