Friday, November 25, 2011


I want to see the pain
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.

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.

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

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