and as I press the
edge of the cool
hard knife against
my arm, the pain
feels good.
The skin tears, like
wet tissue.
The blood rushes up,
and I feel relief.
As I let the blood
trickle down my
arm, I feel my
heart thumping
faster, my vision
becoming blurred,
I sit down and start
to mop up the warm
sticky blood.
The wound is just a
slit on my arm.
One more scar,
added to the numerous others.
Scars and lies
are my life.
I feel relief, pressure
is taken away.
Every scar releases new pains.
No - one understands.
Then again no - one cares.
