I now have trouble breathing because I decided to prove that the feeling of drowning in your sorrow is drastically different from doing it in your bathtub
~badwolf143
Some days, I hate my scars.
Their depths varying along the ridges of my forarm, thighs, back, and chest.
Some days, I love my scars.
Their splashes of color and secresy as so many lie hidden along my body.
I have a love-hate relationship with this surrender.
It's funny how I can't stand for another to bleed in front of me... But I have an obsession with watching that crimson, liquid ectasy, rush from a wound as I make no attempt to stop... Why would I ever want it to stop?
Not when I'm finally the one controlling the pain I am feeling.
