Familiar Irony Poem by Fernando Alvarez

Here it comes again.
I feel it wash over me.
The familiar stab of guilt and self loathing.
The same urge for release.
Release me.
I can't look in the mirror.
The sight scares me.
Starved, bruised, broken little soul.
I just want to be one of the smiling faces,
That surround me, torture me, and make me feel this pain.
I alone feel this way.
I alone sit in this room holding this razor blade.
Would they care if I did it?
Would they notice?
The pain drains any thought of sanity that remains
In my head.
I pray for death, but too afraid to do it myself.
Help me! ...I wish I was dead.
The silent scream echoes into the dark abyss.
Sitting on my bedroom floor in the dark, something amiss.
I can't see, just feel
The sweet agony of a thousand metal needles, makes me real.
It's so cold inside my soul.
Frozen and shaking, I lay here.
A beaten child, I feel so disengaged.
I need this.