Scratch

‘Scratch’, it goes.
Like a needle on a record.
I shut my eyes.
And remember my life.

‘Crack’, there goes my ribs,
Those who should call me ‘friend’, break me.
But I do not cry, not a sound passes my lips,
Not until they put their foot in my side again.

‘Bang’, there goes the door,
Oh shit, here they come again!
To prove my worthlessness,
And throw me around like a paper doll.

‘Snap’, was that my nose?
Is this real, the blood on my face?
What have I done to deserve this?
What the fuck is wrong with me?

‘Ha!’, why are you laughing at me?
When I look so wretched and destroyed?
Why do you hit me?
What have I ever done to you?

‘Slam’ here we go again.
Another day, another bruise, another unfeeling smile.
They are wearing me down.
I am losing this battle.

‘Whimper’, maybe it’s my fault.
I must be defective.
Well, you know what to do with those who are wrong.
Release the lifeblood of the damned.

‘Gasp!’ this hurts…
but the knife feels fine…
I feel much better…
I feel more alive.

‘Sigh’, I need more blood spilled.
They hit me again today,
Spat on my face,
And called me things they shouldn’t know.

‘Damn’, this isn’t working.
I don’t need to be alive.
Let’s see what happens,
On the other side.

‘Tug’, pull the noose tight,
I feel the world fading away.
Hey, what are you doing here, mummy?
Why are you stopping the pain?

‘Scream’ why am I still here?
I am going to try again.
Sharpen the knife, one shot…
Ow! Too much pain to bear!

‘Fuck’, I can’t do thatIt hurts too much.
How about I drink this and take these pills!
They will end it for me…

‘Click’, why am I awake?
Why am I alive?
Maybe I need to stay for a while…
Let’s go back to the knife…

‘Scratch’, another sound starts.
I grin as I remember 7 years worth on pain.
7 years of the knife.
7 years worth of blood.

‘Scratch’, and another line is created.
It has been a while.
4 years, in fact.
I had forgotten how much this hurts.

‘Scratch’ goes the tip.
As I draw it across my canvas.
But I have to know what it is I’m fighting for.
I need to know whether it’s worth going on.

‘Scratch’ goes the syringe needle,
A final line across my wrist.
Here’s to the memories and pain.
I now know I don't need to do this anymore.