He was ten.
“What is suicide?” he would have said.
But when anger rose he hit himself,
knowing that it should be taken out—
weeded out—
but fearing to slash out.
He was a calm kid because he feared rage.
When he stopped hurting his body,
his words became unkept,
his tears hot with red,
his fists clenched.
He got into fights.
Then he stopped anger all over again,
yet his arms became marked with bites once again.