You sit in my desk,
Calling,
Beckoning,
Reaching out to me,
For one more cut
Upon my paper wrist.

You enjoy the pain a lot more than me,
To see me those emotionless nights just sketching upon my skin
New patterns and lines that are now a port of me.
Oh, how you enjoyed just seeing me at my worst
And knowing that the pain I was feeling inside,
Was something you were helping me bring to the outside.

The lines you helped me draw now stay with me forever
And they call to me in my sleepless nights to add more like them.
Dark red lines with bumps on the side and deep perforation are now tattoos on my right wrist,
As a result of the rope and knot I felt in my stomach
Just waiting to drag me even more down.

In the beginning, tears wouldn’t stop streaming down my eyes,
But I know I had to keep on going since I needed to punish myself
And feel the pain I had caused others.
Eventually, these feelings went numb and suddenly I felt nothing.
Cut after cut I was able to stop myself when I felt the sting but internally,
I wanted to go on forever.

Sweaters and hoodies are now my closest friends,
They hug me and protect me from the criticism I receive from others.
But no one understand the pain, no matter how hard they try to,
It’s just a feeling very few of us are able to experience.
Judging eyes dart to my wrist whenever I wear short-sleeves,
And short after, the millions of questions start bombarding me.

It angers me that after all of this,
You just sit in my desk patiently waiting,
Eyeing me constantly,
Reminding me of the past,
And waiting for the next time I’ll use you
To cut my paper wrist once again.