I’d stopped.
I HAD!
I promise...
But now it starts again.
New blades
New cuts
New problems...
But still the same old Jynn.
The scars add up to 81,
No, make that 92.
They never seem to go away
Stuck to my skin like glue.
I write this not with anguish
As oft' my poems are.
Just with simple curiosity
At the make-up of a scar.
It starts out with a split
In the gentle human flesh
The blood pours like a flood or stream
Or tidal wave. Nothing less.
The blood runs down
Then starts to drip
As you relish in the sting.
Then you realize
What a mess you’ve made
Grab some cotton ***** to clean.
Wash most of it downs the drain,
Wipe the rest off of your skin.
And once the bleeding settles down....
Pick up the blade and start again.

The pressure building in my chest,
Pain that I cant put to rest.
I want to scream this isn’t fair,
I scratch my arm, the skin wont tear.
The pressure grows; I'm gunna burst...
Unless I can release it first.
I stumble for the bathroom door,
I trip, and crumple to the floor.
I look up, through the haze of tears,
I see my target, and worst of fears.
But I reach and grab it nonetheless,
A razor, nice and clean and fresh.
The razors cheap, so blades break lose.
A sharpened blade for me to use.
My skin that at first wouldn’t break,
Is left torn and bleeding in its wake.
The pressure ebbs out through my vain,
Until the cuts rid me of my pain.
Some turn to drugs, and others drink,
But I can clean my medicine in the sink,
So I can use it next I need,
To ease the pain, that need to bleed.
Few others truly understand,
And many just cant comprehend.
No, I'm not proud, but I won’t stop.
Until my spirits cease to drop.
So please don’t judge, and please don’t hate,
Unless you can make it go away.
That’s all I want,
That’s all I crave,
Is to rid myself,
And start a new day.