you close your eyes and
wrap your arms around yourself,
trying to make yourself as small as possible
you turn off the lights
and hide under the blankets
and suddenly you're seven years old again
hiding under the bed,
hands clamped over your sister's ears,
trying to be strong for the both of you
even though you were seven and
she was only four and
you forfeited your childhood
in the hopes that your baby sister,
the only thing that matters to you,
could grow up happy
you squeeze your eyes shut and
will yourself not to cry,
to stay strong
because she is not worth your tears
and you whisper 'i am strong'
to yourself over and over again
but it doesn't help,
nothing helps anymore,
except for counting
every day you wake up and
add one more tally to your notebook;
a scorecard of how long you've survived
it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth
every time you look at it,
a reminder of your weakness
you take it out sometimes
on nights like this,
to remind yourself that you are good
but then you get an ache in your chest
and your eyes glance over to the bottom drawer
where, hidden away in the back corner, are your blades
and your fingers twitch over your wrist,
like a reflex, and you want to feel the burn once more
you just want to feel again
you want to feel the blade pierce your skin
and watch the blood drip down your arm,
pooling on the bed, staining it
a wave of embarrassment washes over you,
because you're itching to hurt yourself,
and you promised you wouldn't do it again
you try to steady your breath
when she raises her voice again
but it doesn't work
you hear her coming towards your room
and hold your breath
and stay as still as possible
you pretend to be asleep
and take even breaths
and maybe she won’t hurt you
667 days clean but then a night like this comes around and it could all be over