Broken Poetry

Nightmare Scars

I've got a stomach riddled with scars, some dark and deep, some shallow and light. Everyday I am reminded of what I once was, and it sickens me to think about how stupid I had been at that time. I can't share the misery without people freaking out about how I had tried to kill myself, or how I used to cut my own skin, their judgmental minds begin to think up labels to put over my head, and they slowly back away from me. These scars haunt me every time I go to bathe. I pull off my shirt and the horror of what I used to be stays carved into my skin bringing tears to my eyes as I step under the hot water. I promised I would never go back to it, but every night while I lay in my bed, I think of the blades laying in the drawer just beneath me. I'm afraid of myself and the dangers I could cause to my body once more. I'm scared and terrified that I would start on this addiction again because I can feel myself slowly craving the sensation of it. I don't feel safe.