You see things
aren’t great
they’re tough they’re stressful
I’ve seen things
mostly though
I’ve done things
To myself
to others
It’s not all bad (I’m okay. now?)
though the bad eclipsed
the good
It’s left me with scars
a plowed field on my left arm
an insignia of rank. A decorated veteran
scars on the skin are
a projection of the psyche
just a manifestation
The real scars run deeper
the real scars weren’t made with steel
the real wound was made by people
people who I trust(ed)
people who I love(d)
friends
Broken trust broken boundaries broken friendship
all compound fractures
marring the skin
the cutting wasn’t an illness
it was a symptom
of an ailing mind
an agonizing mind
an acrid acidic mind
burning away blinded
the smoke of its own plight
blotting out the world
blotting out the light
a cut pierces the pall
slashes the smoke
it lets you breath
it lets you see
it lets you forget
if only for
a moment.
But Cuts
are Band-Aids
on a severed artery
they don’t ebb the flow
they don’t change the tides
they can’t stop your vital
hourglass sand from slipping
through your fingers
They don’t give any control
when you need it most
they take it away
and then you aren’t holding the blade
the blade is holding you
and you’re lost again.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
You see things
aren’t great
they’re tough they’re stressful
I’ve seen things
mostly though
I’ve done things
To myself
to others
It’s not all bad (I’m okay. now?)
though the bad eclipsed
the good
It’s left me with scars
a plowed field on my left arm
an insignia of rank. A decorated veteran
scars on the skin are
a projection of the psyche
just a manifestation
The real scars run deeper
the real scars weren’t made with steel
the real wound was made by people
people who I trust(ed)
people who I love(d)
friends
Broken trust broken boundaries broken friendship
all compound fractures
marring the skin
the cutting wasn’t an illness
it was a symptom
of an ailing mind
an agonizing mind
an acrid acidic mind
burning away blinded
the smoke of its own plight
blotting out the world
blotting out the light
a cut pierces the pall
slashes the smoke
it lets you breath
it lets you see
it lets you forget
if only for
a moment.
But Cuts
are Band-Aids
on a severed artery
they don’t ebb the flow
they don’t change the tides
they can’t stop your vital
hourglass sand from slipping
through your fingers
They don’t give any control
when you need it most
they take it away
and then you aren’t holding the blade
the blade is holding you
and you’re lost again.
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