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.