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

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

Control, power & 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 it is 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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