TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM
Thoughts whip and beat around her mind;
the urges pull at her, pleading,
“Just one cut, just one slice;”
they beg, “just one please.”
She rolls back her sleeve,
runs her fingers across the ridges of old cuts,
the dried bloody lines,
the peeling broken skin,
the rough calloused scars.
Her wrist stares up at her,
Scarred and scared.
It waits anxiously for it to be over with
“Just do it, get it over with;
please don’t make me wait in agony.”
Her mind loves the pain,
and her skin falls victim every time;
her mind says again,
“Come on, just one cut, just one slice.”
She takes out her blade
and searches for an open spot clear of old wounds.
She presses the edge against her skin,
Feeling the cool steel bite into her arm;
she slides it across her wrist,
revealing a cut which soon turns red.
Scarlet beads appear along the line;
ruby tears roll down her arm,
streaking her skin with trails of crimson.
She cuts again and again,
crossing over old scars,
slashing over recent cuts.
She watches each one turn red and spill over;
she feels the warmth of the hematic streams.
She can finally think again, breathe again,
finally feel an ounce peace.
Her mind has cleared, the storm subsided;
the seemingly endless downpour of self-hate,
the never ending inner critical voices,
finally calmed and silenced.
As enough of her is shed,
she wipes away the pain from her wrist.