(no subject)

[20yearssinking]

This is a poem about me debating whether or not I should go inpatient again. It's somewhat triggering for cutters. Please tell me what you think of the poem and of whether or not I should go!

lavender walls encompass my memory
as i reflect, and wonder if it's where i belong.
i don't WANT to go back,
but i'm wondering if i have to.
it's just a psych ward,
and it would only be my 16th time...
but i don't WANT to go back.
at the same time,
while the lavender walls surround my brain,
blood red fills the empty spaces.
i remember hitting an artery (just barely)
only a matter of weeks ago
and know that i am out of control
but i'm not sure i want to be in control anymore.
i've spent so long fighting,
i've forgotten what i'm fighting for.
my sanity? what is that?
i don't remember anymore.
all i remember is my desire for blood,
to stain black cloth brown,
to live in a state of fascination
at the colors, the sensations,
the fleeting feeling of finally being free.
i know i'm out of control,
but somehow, i doubt that lavender walls
will help me regain control.