Cutting Pain is a Different Flavor of Hurt

Alone in my mind is

scary,

my imagination runs free

ruining my view of life,

putting down my bloody 

razor that kissed my skin over

and over again,

insecurity rises to the surface

and I pull at my hair,

tugging trying to calm the voices in my mind,

pacing I look at the razor feeling my wrist pulse

and throb,

looking dead at a wall you try talking to me,

it's no use I feel nothing,

I don't even feel real,

everything is blurry

and turns to static until I

block out what you say,

all I can hear are the clocks ticking,

almost mocking me,

regulating my pulse,

the air gets thick and 

I can't breathe,

I literally can't breathe,

it feels like everything is moving to fast,

to fast that I can't handle or deal with it,

it's to overwhelming,
pacing around, 

feeling anxious and desperate to stop

the voices and the sounds,

shaking and crying I sit on the floor after you leave,