Lacerations litter your every being,
Slits decorate the spaces between your arms,
The skin around your incisions reddened in fury,
And the mess simply peeled apart at the seams.
With self-gratification as your holy grail,
You wait anxiously, for the next moment of temporary relief.
Knowing every time, you give into your desires of hatred
That you'd slice yourself up giddily, with no thought taken to spare
For the consequences that come after, the burning red scars,
And the choice, the temptation, to suffer all over again.