I watch the blade pierce my skin, yet I feel nothing

Pearls of blood gather in the seams of the wound

An errant thumb smears across the coppery beads of life

Staining the subtle, spidered paths of my palms

I lack the courage to push deeper

I try not to curse the steel as I feel my hand shaking

A crooked "T" forms out of the scar tissue

An odd accompaniment to the fading india ink smiley face I so proudly engraved at 12

The angry pink flesh of my grief cries out for recognition

With a pasty blue grin, the naivety of my youth only mocks this unspeakable pain

Tears fall quietly down my face as I prepare for another wave of pretending...

Another wave of forgetting
   Of regretting...
      Of blood letting.