“My heart isn’t beating,
It’s throbbing in pain”
I live with that reality.
Literally.
For it’s permanently
Engraved
Upon my forearm
Once crimson,
Now a light pink.
If it’ll ever go,
I don’t know.
But that’s my battle scar.
That, and the other 500 cuts
I added.
It was my daily challenge,
To see how many cuts
I can achieve every day.
And yesterday I reached
Five Hundred.
Five hundred cuts that lie nestled
Between burns and bruises,
Dried blood and pinpricks.
Surrounded by holes, torn deep,
An opening to my soul,
Through my body.
It’s ****** up,
I know,
But this is where I draw strength from
When I am battling suicide.
When I’m out on the streets,
The pill’s in my hand,
The knife upon my chest.
I look at these cuts,
These ****** ugly marks
And I feel comforted.
These cuts will always stay.
They won’t leave me.
Unlike the rest of my world.
How can I leave them?
And so,
I stay.
For my scars.
Oct 26, 2025
Oct 26, 2025 at 10:30 PM UTC
“My heart isn’t beating,
It’s throbbing in pain”
I live with that reality.
Literally.
For it’s permanently
Engraved
Upon my forearm
Once crimson,
Now a light pink.
If it’ll ever go,
I don’t know.
But that’s my battle scar.
That, and the other 500 cuts
I added.
It was my daily challenge,
To see how many cuts
I can achieve every day.
And yesterday I reached
Five Hundred.
Five hundred cuts that lie nestled
Between burns and bruises,
Dried blood and pinpricks.
Surrounded by holes, torn deep,
An opening to my soul,
Through my body.
It’s ****** up,
I know,
But this is where I draw strength from
When I am battling suicide.
When I’m out on the streets,
The pill’s in my hand,
The knife upon my chest.
I look at these cuts,
These ****** ugly marks
And I feel comforted.
These cuts will always stay.
They won’t leave me.
Unlike the rest of my world.
How can I leave them?
And so,
I stay.
For my scars.