You always tell me how worthless and ugly you are,
how the world would be a better place without you.
You don't believe that you can fly like a shooting star
high above the skies, painted a unique different hue.

You will never see how your smile lights up the night
when all your life, you've watched yourself crash land.
So just laugh and let go of it all, take hold of my hand
as we get lost in the streets underneath the moonlight.

I still think of you, you know
     in the dead of night,
     in the quietest hours,
     in the lonesome dark

I still dream of you, you know
     in my midnight slumber,
     in my subconscious life,
     in my somnambulistic searching

I still long for you, you know
     when I feel that itch,
     when relationships fail,
     when I crave attention

I still think of you, you know -- Do you ever think of me?

With my hands tied tight and cruelly behind my back,
And my ankles strapped to the cold metal of a chair
I think of myself as a witch tied to a stake,
Waiting for judgment.
The same shame.
The same confusion for my crimes.
The same knowing that punishment will be dealt,
No matter the case.

I'm crying in the dark, trying to scream through the tape,
But no one can hear you when the door's closed.

I should have known then,
When he locked me away,
That none of this was normal
And I should have run.

And when I heard footsteps,
My voice caught in my throat.
I remember thinking
He's going to come back and he's going to ruin me worse than before.

And in the darkness I saw nothing,
But the pitter patter of the rain on the roof and within the gutters
Of the theatre.

And I remember the light spilling into the room,
When the door was pulled open,
And seeing the face of a friend I can no longer bring myself to speak to.

And I remember him tearing the tape from my wrists and ankles
And trying to lift me back up
When I fell to the ground in broken sobs.

He rushed me to to his girlfriend,
And I cried in her arms as she and the nurse
Tried to find out the severity of my bruises,
And if anything worse had happened.

I couldn't participate in gym class for a week,
But I was out longer,
Because I didn't want to change in front of the other girls
And let them see the bruises on my hips,
Thighs,
Abdomen,
And everywhere else.

Do not tell me I asked for it.
Do not ask me what I was wearing.
Do not tell me
I should have done this or done that.

I know what mistakes I made and what mistakes I didn't make.

That wasn't the first time
Nor was it the last.

I remember the shame
Burning beneath my flesh
In my therapists office
When he asked what I was wearing
That night.
And what was I supposed to say?

"Sorry sir, you obviously can't do your job. Have a nice night."

Is what I left that office with.

And I remember bleeding,
And I remember wanting to do violent things
And seek vengeance upon him.

But it'll be six years tomorrow
Since the first time that happened to me,
And I don't think I can keep living with wanting him dead.

My skin still burns with shame,
And I sometimes still revert back,
To the witch being burned at the stake.

Put ice on your wrists,
Or wherever the scars usually appear,
And hold it for five to ten minutes,
The urge should disappear,
Along with the sensation in your veins
The signals to you
That you're about to black out.

If you don't have ice,
Apply pressure with your hands.
Bonus points if they're cold.

Don't allow yourself to become too aware
Of the blood in your veins.

Breathing exercises help too,
And while you're at it try grounding yourself.

Count how many things you can see up to five.
Then count four things you can hear.
Three you can touch,
Two you can smell,
And one you can taste.

Make a list of what calms you,
Make a list of what gives you bliss,
See how many things go between each.

Talk  yourself down,
Remind yourself you can't do this.
Remind yourself you have to remember.

Don't focus on the trigger.
Forget it,
Quickly.

Distract yourself.
Something you can hear-- Music.
Something you can taste-- Gum.
Something you can feel-- Your lion.
Something you can smell-- His sweatshirt.
But what do you focus on?

You can't seem to find a fixed point to keep your eyes on,
And the threat of a black out is receding,
But why did it start?

You can't even remember what set you off.

Your hands are soaked.
The ice cubes melted on your wrists.