Black Meat

Cut, cut, cut, cut it all out,

Scalpel is hot n handy so let us cut n don't shout.

Black dead meat it all needs cutting right out,

N I do it myself coz no TVT are ever about.

I cut black flesh in my leg and it doesn't even hurt,

Black dead meat from the lymphedema is slimy black dirt.

Cutting away at my own body it really is absurd,

But I really love cutting myself does that make me a burk?

So I cut with care and don't even bleed anywhere,

Coz if I cut too deep I will hit a live nerve n curse n swear.

A little off the top is what John told me in hospital care,

And it's not like I can go in for it so I cut in despair.

Am I fucked up for cutting myself, am I doing self-harm?

Or am I saving taxpayers money by using my own arms?

The NHS is broken and no one will come to me calm,

So I cut n cut n cut n til the black is gone, n I feel no alarm.

© 2023 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

Addict...

Hello I'm Rob, and I'm an addict,

To be honest my addiction, is my habit.

Please close this page, if you ever liked me,

I don't want more ex friends, to think I'm mad as can be.

The truth is, I'm addicted to self abusing,

The truth is, I'm addicted to self amusing.

The truth is, I'm addicted to unhealthy and sickening care,

You can easily see the scars, on my limbs though my hair.

I'm addicted to being, sad and alone,

And I don't have the balls, to ever pick up a phone.

I'm addicted to major, self harm and abuse,

My life is a long road to hell, that was illegally introduced.

So basically I'm addicted, to not giving a fuck,

And I enjoy getting hit hard, when I'm having a ruck.

I like digging holes, deep in my own skin,

And I like cutting people up, like a can tin.

I'm addicted to always seeing the worst,

Coz the worst of the worst, is my own worse curse.

I can't help the flow, of my thin watery blood,

As the rain washes my body, lying unconscious in mud.

I'm addicted to nasty police, harassment and tugs,

They always ask if I'll hit them, when taking off cuffs.

I've had bare police cold, in my own hands,

The hands of a man, who didn't know the length of his own plans.

I'm addicted to not caring, about holes and cuts,

I'll end up alone, life’s clock ticked all out of all luck.

It's a shame there's no detox, that could ever fix me,

Take the drugs and meds away, and then you'll see.

That all my self harm, has probably been,

A way of keeping my family and friends, safe n clean.

Coz unfortunately the life I wanted, was not in store,

And I've walked dark roads, that nobody saw.

God just decided to deal me an early duff hand,

The sort in poker that only blags, bluffs n lies withstand.

I've tried, but there is no 12 step program for me,

And my only chip, has the Grim Reaper stamped for everyone to see.

© 2021 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid