Fresh red scars lay upon the right side of my stomach.
They weren't too large.
Weren't too deep.
12 lines that  weren't perfectly horizontal.
They let me feel.
Feel the feeling of something else than nothing.

Sore.

I cring as I place my purple tank top on.
Covering the crime that I commit more than once.
During the day I don't even remember them.
Until I place a binder against them.
They scream in pain, I wince just slightly.
Then soon welcoming the pain, yet its comfortable.

Relief.

Even though its not the right way to handle things.
Can you blame me for still wanting to feel?
My life has been a struggle for my entire life.
At first, I thought there was no other way to handle the pain.
Thought I just had to deal and let myself suffer.
But then an idea clicked in my messed up mind.

Razor.

The first time it met my skin, I was nervous.
Scared to see the blood rush down my arm and drip .
It hurt at first, my teeth clenched.
But soon the numb came.
And that's when I knew.
I had made a

Friend.