Yours

Pleasure

Is it bad that I like the way it stings?

The sort of burning, tingling sensation along my arms.

The pain in my chest makes me immune to the pains on my body. Thinking about what I've done, thinking about who I am.

Will they think I'm pretty now?

I run my fingertips over the swellings. White lines, red lines, careless lines. Finding anywhere that suits, anything to make it stop.

I like the way it looks, I like the way it feels. No one will ever notice; no one cares to notice.

It's my secret. It's my pleasure. It's my pain.