It was like
Any other day.
I got up
Went to school
Plastered on a semi-fake smile
…Felt sad.
This is where I pause my story.
Why am I sad?
Why are my friends
And my dreams
And my passions
Not good enough?
Why do I feel…
Depressed?
But home is where
The real trouble started.
I was watching my favorite show
Walking to my desk
When all of a sudden--
“CRUNCH.”
It was an accident
—Yes, really, a mistake.
I stepped on a mirror
And could feel it shatter
Underneath my shoes.
Looked down,
Swore,
Got out a garbage bag.
That’s when it started.
One by one
Shards fell into the bag,
tinkling as they hit each other.
And then there was the mirror.
Broken, its frame was empty,
sitting there, waiting for me to toy
with the two lone pieces
that managed to hang on.
So I did. I handled them,
turned them over,
looked at myself
from the jagged reflective surface.
My lips
my nose
my eyes.
Blue innocent eyes;
I remember,
blue with an island of green.
They stared,
wondering.
And so did I.
So I took the shards,
wrapped my fingers around it,
and just, kind of,
scratched.
One line vertical,
One line slanted over.
A sort-of criss-cross
On my wrist.
And I didn't bleed.
I scratched but didn't bleed.
Because really?
I was scared.
...But then again,
I was deserving.
So I did it again,
Again.
Again.
Only a little blood,
Goddammit!
I'll try my hands!
Three down the side of the palm,
Like a cat scratch.
I got scratched by a cat.
Really.
Didn't you know I had a cat?
YOU ARE READING
Diary of a Self-Proclaimed Addict
PoetryAddiction is like a fire: It consumes everything--your life, your soul--in a colorful fury. Victims are entranced. But behind the colors and the warm heat there is damage. The question is, can you get out before it burns your whole world down? ....T...
