Waterfall

When I used to cut I never bled.
The only thing that ever poured,
was a little bit of sadness from my veins.
A relief like no other that would pour and pour like a waterfall
that never ends. Only to stop if blocked by debris.

That debris being a bandage put on by some nurse at the hospital while you sit there wondering why she blocked your waterfall. Trying to figure out why everyone is trying to be so nice when all you want is to feel the sadness slip away. Just wanting to see that waterfall flow until the last drip of sadness dissipates.

Then having questions ask like...

Do you have scars?
Yeah. A lot of them.
Do you still think about killing yourself?
Yeah. All the time.

Are you sad?
Yeah. I'm fucking depressed.
Are you scared?
Yeah. All the fucking time.

Then that one question that gets me every time.

Are you anxious?
Yeah. Is that even a damn question?

Then being force fed medicine that doesn't do anything.
And given a therapist who doesn't even care.
Therapy means nothing to the suicidal.

What can be said that is already known?

I used to cut. I used to cut all the time.
But some debris became a dam.
Making it hard to let my sadness flow.

Sometimes I wish I could just break that dam down.
Letting all my sadness flow. 
Letting all my sadness go.