as i draw
the room temperature blade
across my skin
little white marks
scratches like a cat
remain
a hidden sign
of the pain
the torture
of the hopelessness suffered in amongst the peaceful serenity of destruction that is currently swallowing me whole

i wish
i had the courage
to draw on my hands
like normal
or my wrists
for a change
but this time
it must remain my private little secret
my ***** little secret
or those the closest to me will get hurt and  that will only
make things
worst

if i had the courage
i’d draw
dainty sparkles of crimson blood
i’d push hard against the mottled canvas of my uppermost thigh
i’d do it properly

but i can’t
bring myself
to push
any
harder

i pause
for the second time
since i began
i think
of those i’ve seen around me
in public
at school
college
wherever
some try to hide their masterpieces with age old techniques which do nothing but cry louder and more desperately than the lines of ink which they so desperately want to keep so secret
it
doesn’t
work

some hang theirs up on exhibition for the whole world and their wife to see
free of charge

no
one
cares
or even
really
notices

as i draw
the room temperature blade across my skin
i finally feel
okay.