I stare at two insignificant pieces of unwrapped plastic on my vanity;
How many times have those pieces of plastic covered my body?
Covering the grotesque self-inflicted wounds,
The same wounds that have imprinted themselves upon my porcelain skin,
Forming ugly twisted marks that will never leave;
How many of those bandages shielded the world from my inner turmoil?
Even I have lost count over the years,
Why do I suffer?
Not even I could tell you that,
What do I suffer from?
I don't know that either;
The bandages have always covered that up for me.
