Once upon a time I thought
I'd never make my own blood run.
Look at me now.
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore.
I'm so different it's scary.
Do you remember my enthusiasm?
I loved life. What changed?
The answer is simple.
All I did was open my eyes.
I saw how hellish it all is.
I realized it was useless to have joy.
Thus I took up an interesting habit:
Slicing my skin to see the blood flow.
My scars are many; my joy is little.
The deep pink scars that run
the length of my arms.
They say I'm cured but I still do it.
I just got smarter about where to hide it.
I love my blood, but not me.
I have no reason to stop.