Silent Plea

Thirty.

Trigger warning: Self harm, Blood.

The skin is like a canvas - untainted and empty, perfect for venting your frustration upon. The skin begs to be marked, to be used like a notepad. You can scribble any notes on your hands and arms and never forget or miss a deadline. You can cut your flesh open and smear red all over, every cut comes with a story - a time where you felt so low and depressed. Every mark and blemish has a reason or a memory that follows. Every relapse, bad day and time you hit rock bottom is expressed through the cuts on your skin. Once it scabs you can rip it off ruining the progress your skin has made to heal itself, destroying like you always do. Once it heals it'll scar and you'll be reminded of every time you took a blade to your skin and sliced it open, every tear you shed and blood you smeared in hope of letting out all emotion but pain. Every single mental breakdown and panic attack where you had to feel pain in order to remain sane. Every time you wanted to die and be erased from this world is there on your skin.