i pull the threads out of my fingernails
and paint roses over my skin
and i scar myself in ways i shouldnt
and in my mind im thinking that this must be it
this will be my breakthrough
but after all of it is finished
i sit and i feel guilt
and i ponder whether it was really worth it after all
but i come back to it no matter what
all that pain and all those marks
piling on top of each other like bedsheets
so cold and still like old stone
monuments to my old thoughts
infectious and malefic thoughts that always find me
they remind me of the past
unintentionally i feed into the cycle of torment
but if those scars were to disappear
the next time i woke up
or as i wash my hands they
begin to look polished and healthy
well i think i would still miss them
and i would want them back
because even if they do remind me
even if they affect my self worth
in a way they help me understand why i did it
and when i feel them i dont have to fear
what will happen when i lose myself again
because i already know what it feels like
and it feels like nothing in a way
YOU ARE READING
my darkest mind
Poetryoh, my darkest mind, still as you incarnadine me in vain, you behold me as i fall. deeper, my darkest mind, roiling in fury, the fever you gift me, pain that befalls me, obsidian once sharp had since dulled to reveal the rectification of what used...
