Poetry

Scars

I can't imagine it.
It's like having a night with no moon or stars.
A day with no sun.
It happens sometimes, but it feels unnatural.

The strange feeling you have that everything is falling apart when really....
Really it's just you.
You can't hold on to your emotions anymore you just explode.

You're a bomb.

You hold in so much and when the fuse is lit you explode.

Anger and sadness flood your mind.
"Just one slit. It'll only hurt for a second and all the pain will be gone. It's not as sharp as you think. You'll be better if you cut the pain out."

You lock the door and pull your shirt off.
Crying harder when you see the cuts on your skin.
You keep them hidden.
You hide them well.

The razor only shines brighter when it knows it's going to be used.
It's almost as if it jumps into your hands with an embrace of love and care but really....
Really it just wants to see you suffer.

The pain starts at one point and ends at another.
Coldness drips down your back and the open wounds become a fire.
You know what you're doing wont help.
But it makes the pain stop.

Lies.

You believe that.
You think it stops the chaos.
You know it doesn't.

One more.
And another.
And two more.

Your standing in your own problems now.
As they puddle at your feet.
Your life is blurred.
So is your vision.
Your cold.
So is the floor.

Blackness surrounds you as the hard bed you lay on disappears from under you and your lifted.

You've been here before.
This familiar darkness welcomes you home often.
The light shines through enough to let you know you're safe now and you open your eyes to the world again.

They cry and they yell.
You could have told them.
They could have helped.
Instead you chose the marks.
You chose the pain.
You chose the scars.