Deep Inside

I get overwhelmed,
feel hurt, alone,
and worthless.
I shut myself away,
pull out my blades,
and react.
My thoughts freeze,
my hand has a mind of its own.
I watch as my skin parts,
leaving a bright red path behind.
I watch the blood trickle down my arm,
watch as my problems drain away.
I feel that sting, that pain,
that feeling that distracts me.
I feel it all, and I do more.
One after another, I feel better.
It's my release, my outlet,
the one thing I have control of.
Everything else aside,
nothing matters.
I feel better, feel relieved,
feel free.
I clean up, wash away the stains,
and return to everything that was going on,
everyone who doesn't understand.
My world stopped, yet everything continued.
Makes me wonder.
If it can go on for a few minutes without me,
it can go on forever without me.
But, I return anyways, knowing I have to.
I feel guilty.
I feel ashamed.
Yet, it's what I do.
It's my comfort,
it's my one stability.
It won't go away like people do.
It won't fail to relieve me.
It's my comfort,
my relief,
it's me.