as it
flows,
coloring
the white with thick red.
Sticky
tears joining hands to create a flood.
I want to
trace my finger in this river of red,
smear it
over my skin, make trails and marks.
Paint.
I want to
see my pain.
I wear the
marks of my pain
in places
you will never see.
On the
soles of my feet,
at the back
of me knees.
Engravings
of mutilation.
Etchings of
despair.
I want to
control my pain.
I want to
own my pain.
Harming
yourself is a form of self-expression said the helpful doctor.
I trace
elaborate patterns in my skin,
etchings of pain.
etchings of pain.
Like pistes
under new fallen snow,
veins hide
under my skin.
Light catches
the blade
and for a
moment I’m stuck in the glare.
It’s pretty.
Then it
touches my skin
I feel
I see my
pain.
Recycled - first draft circa 2006
Recycled - first draft circa 2006
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