she sits, rolls up her sleeves and looks
at snakes and worms that crawl and mar
her peach milk skin, thinking
why don't they see
they all look, they all ******* stare
but they don't see and never will
they'll never see past the
barbed-wire lines
the white, pink, purple crosses
a barrier between her and the whole
of humanity, that looks
and yet never sees
she cannot count the times she has
held a knife, blade, pin, nails
to her wretched flesh and
prayed for courage
watches it bite and release, slow,
the ghosts and pain that swell
in her martyred blood and
still she cannot count
the nights she has prayed for
strength to press down and
go deeper, through the
milky layers until
she finds blue veins, and gazes
as they empty, pouring out
her life, and giving her
the one thing she craves
she wishes it wouldn't hurt to sink
a blade into her corpse, wishes
skin would split with
impersonality
wishes it could be like cutting an apple
she could disconnect and go deep
enough that her own blood
would be her freedom
she wants to steal the power from
those voices in her head, that
her body didn't betray her
with ****** survival
she sits, holds a blade, reflecting
a forearm bared of all but its
rugged scars, reaches out
for that numbing bottle
distract the mind, ensnare senses
delay reactions and slice through
the fragile skin coating
her beloved release
go deep enough to know it's real
she desires to go deeper until
she falls into something,
somewhere unreal
now, just imagine, how much pain
each day, each second causes
to make that feel like the best
the only option
and picture this, that every night
she draws closer, drunken
dreaming and ever closer to
losing it one night.
*© Tara India.
trigger warning i guess, but this is how i feel, this is an adaptation of some random journaling. i am a very unsafe, unstable person right now.