This is supposed to be about the cycle of self-harm. It got kind of messy, though. 
A dangerous notion, referred to as an urge,
life threatening emotions, begin to emerge.
A poisonous itch that I know not to scratch,
but I know I need to, it's my safety catch.
It's a dying spark that I just can't ignite,
the whispers that haunt me each night,
they're yelling, screaming, calling my name.
Sharp silver seduces, I lose my own game.
A euphoric release, known as the rush,
all the whispers quiet down to a hush.
My heart beat reduces to a normal rate,
they chuckle, I again fell for their bait.
The cuts shimmer and give off a burn,
I know I'm awaiting pain's awful return.
But it's a feeling I won't ever forget,
Blood boils, I fill with what's called regret.
It doesn't waste time, it pulls me in,
it eats at me from the outside in.
It tightens its grip, it pulls me under,
I can't hear reality through the thunder.
I'm suffocating, I can barely breathe,
but it's about time for me to leave -
to be drenched in something known as panic.
My head throbs and my thoughts go manic.
Thoughts fill my head, they're soon to overflow,
it's worse and there's nowhere for them to go.
They become me and they control my voice,
they tell me that I don't have another choice.
A dangerous notion, referred to as an urge,
life threatening emotions, begin to emerge.
A poisonous itch that I know not to scratch,
but I know I need to, it's my safety catch.