As I draw the lines on my hips,
A sharp razor in my hand,
I beg, plead for the pain,
Because it is easier to deal with than my mind.
While I'm standing under the scalding water,
From the shower I wish to suffocate me with heat,
I watch the blood drip down,
Bur still can't feel a thing.
As I look at the masterpiece I created,
I am fascinated by the lines,
And I rub the smooth skin,
Hoping for more blood to arrive.
But I also want it to stop,
I'm scared that this will be it,
The fun will be over,
Of itching with a razor at my thighs.
Because this has become the norm,
This empty, crippling feeling,
This desire of death,
This avoidance of interaction.
Because I'm scared to slip up,
I'm scared someone will notice,
But sometimes I want them to notice,
I want to be pulled into a loving hug.
I want someone to be there for me,
To hold me close because they love me,
But how can anyone truly love someone,
Who enjoys the scars on their body?
YOU ARE READING
Personification
Poetry//3rd Place Arctic Awards// Through poetry, this book expresses different mental illnesses, emotions and discoveries of a teenage mind. 'No amount of body lotion or perfume could cover up the memory of his smell on my weakened, scarred skin, And no...
