It stings,
My arm,
But I'm used to it.
I'm used to the sick way the pain gives me something to feel
And how my heart stops pounding quite so hard
When red spills down my arm

Instead of feeling better
Here I am
Writing ****** poetry in the midst of relapse
Waiting for the antidepressants to finally kick in
So that maybe for once
I won't always feel like I'm sinking

This ball and chain called depression
Keeps holding me back
I can no longer launch myself into your arms
I am forced to crawl,
To carry this burden
Until my arms can no longer support me

I'm done.
I'm tired.
I want to be alone

But interspersed with the hauntings
Thoughts of living
Breathing
Laughing
Sneak their way into my mind

And tonight

I want to live

They came back

Like the raging winds
And the torrential rains
They came back.

The urges,
The desire to tear into flesh
To sink into an abyss of pain
Only to never come out

I was naive to think
They'd stay away for good
To think
A little over a month was long enough to
Escape the hell my life had become

I thought they were gone for good
That I was safe from my most primal urges
**** or be killed
Destroy or be destroyed

But a month isn't enough
To stop salivating over blades
To stop daydreaming of bridges and throwing yourself off them

It will never be enough
No matter how long I stay clean.

Because I will always be smudged,
A mirror  coated with dust
Never to reveal the whole truth,
Just a sick dance of marionettes
Jolting against their strings.

God, I hate drinking
but I love popping pills
I hate being in love
but I love the way you feel

My skin feels like fire
when I slice it left to right
but, ****, I feel so cold
whenever I see you cry

each of these scars on my skin (paper)
tell stories and my fingers touch them to hold my memories
because i remember opening up and i hated telling anyone
how i felt
and what it was like to see my insides pour out
and that i still wanted to do it,
i still wanted to decorate my arms, thighs, stomach, hips, heart
with little pink red purple red lines
i remember when he grabbed my arm and i cringed and flinched and ****** air in through my teeth and my chapped lips
and you knew
through all that blue fabric you could see
my scars

r.c.

this body aches
from my mother's house
from the lack of nutrition
from the fresh burns
but i promised I'd stop
but I promised
but you aren't here to stop me.
I'll smoke as much **** as I need to.
and fantasize about the intelligent, soft-spoken
well-worded
perfect everything
he likes my poetry, and says it reminds
him
of Simon Armitage

The scars will not go away.
They will itch.
Your scars will feel like someone is grinding glass in them.
The numb parts will stay numb.
They hurt to touch.
Shaving will never be the same.
Your fingers won't work properly.
The ones you didn’t take care of get worse. Skin sags.
The scars will not go away.
Deep cuts leak.
First-aid supplies are really expensive.
The scars will not go away.
Kids will ask what happened.
People will stare.
Employers will ask if you’re mentally stable enough to hold a job.
They will get sunburnt, and stand out more.
They define every outfit you choose to wear for the rest of your life.
They are the reason *** with the lights off is the only *** you’ll ever have.
The scars will not go away.
You never get used to seeing them,
But you never forget they are there.
People touch you and you flinch. Don’t touch me there, there, there or there.
You will feel disgusting, disgusting, disgusting for the rest of your life.
The scars do not go away.
They do not go away.
They will not go away.

So...
Here I go:
Glaring back at the angry face
That's matching pace
In the mirror.

So...
Here I go:
Shrieking 'til my throat's a mess--
Coated in blood--dressed in distress.
It's not clearer.

So...
Here I go:
Waging a war  now;
My mind's an inferno.
The need to let go now won't--
Stop.

So...
Here I go:
I ****** the razor
My god, you've gone crazed, sir
YOU DON'T HAVE A SAY HERE
It's time...

So...
Here I go:
I'm tracing old tracks of attacks from the past,
And though it's been years it still seems to last.
There's adrenaline surging,
My system is purging,
And my heartbeat is going so...
Slow.

So...
Here I go:
They tell me to do it--to man-up; go through with it--
And there's just too **** many to say that they're wrong.
I've waited too long.
I've waited too long...

So...
Here I go:
My salvation's at hand,
They might not understand,
But it's part of the plan, so I...
Breathe.

So...
Here I go:
My hand is still shaking,
How much time am I taking.
My mind must be breaking!
It hurts...

So...
Here I go:
My head's filled with locusts!
So hard to stay focused!
I know I can do this! I KNOW!
And so...

Here I go:

Taking the razor I once held so dear
As an instrument that once made it all clear--
A tool that would purge me of hate and of fear--
I see now it made none of that disappear...
And that's why I've kept it all of these years.

So...

Here I go:

Just one more goodbye,
As I sever the ties. Letting
The strands break away as I...

I cast it aside...
And then comes the pride.
All those years that I'd lied...
Loved ones planted the seed:
I don't need to bleed
To know what's inside.

I've got a whole life
Outside of the strife.
Now here I go...