My nails long,

Neat and filed

Admired by many…

Scraping across my skin,

Leaving raised red scratches…

Sometimes (so often), the anger

The bottled fury, it all gets

Just too much,

I have to let it out.

I could throw things

My madness draining, with

Every smash, ripped wallpaper

But people notice that too much

I could take it all out on others

Even more noticeable,

But effective nevertheless

Slapping them, shaking them hard

I needed another solution.

Mad at myself, my stupidity

And, that of others, a quick swipe

Scoring white lines on my arm

And the pain… it helps me,

Smashing the bottle, fury dissipating

Sometimes it doesn’t hurt,

So I scratch again and again,

Rhythmically, repetitively… until

My arm is a lattice of raised red scars.

It worked, I was sane, I was in control

Until someone noticed… the worst ones that could

My parents, now pull yourself together

Quoted words, they hurt me-

Keep that up and you’ll be in a psychiatric ward…

So I wore long sleeves

Made it less noticeable

And when I need an outlet

When people are around…

My nails curl around,

Digging into my palms

Crescent moon tattoos imprinted on my skin

Pain when I hold things,

But the bottle is punctured,

I am safe… or am I?

For at nights now

I sit and stare at the scars,

And I feel so empty

Bottled emotions, unable to let out

I know how to, but can’t-

I feebly rub the red criss-crossed on my arms

Wash them, put ice on them

Trying to rid my skin of the marks,

But only time can fix this

A few days will do, but it’s too long

I don’t have an outlet for this…

So I sink deep into imaginary worlds

I am not myself, I am someone else

Someone, I made them up

Stronger, who I would like to be

And vaguely normal

Deep into depression…

And then I am forced to awake

A last maybe an hour,

It’s all too much, too much anger

More engravings appear on my arm

And again I sit at night

Not even night, more like morning

2am, not too late…

Staring at my disfigured skin, and

Questioning my sanity,

Scared for myself… and then

In spite of it all, my hand flashes across my arm

Again

Each slash letting out some fury,

Letting out some sanity

And I cry

So many suspicions

I suspect I may be anorexic,

I claim I’m full when I’m starving

Just to be thin

I’m not starving myself

But I’m close to it…

And now I suspect I may be insane

Scratching, just to feel the pain…

To rid myself of the fury

I’m not cutting myself, as such

But I don’t know how long it’ll be…

And I sit, staring at my arm

Crying…

Questioning my sanity