In Your Head

They make me angry. My fingernails dig into thin white skin as they taunt. My blue veins stand out as the tears push against my eyes. I wish they would hurt me physically. At least then the scars would fade.

My skin tears as I pull it across the zipper on my jacket. I pull back to see how much damage I did, but I am not satisfied with the result.

I pull my wrist up to my chapped lips. The blood tasted familiar. The salty taste of sanity. Of my sanity.

They turn their backs and walk away. They are not satisfied with what they have done. I am not satisfied with what I have done. My face glows hot with anger. I want vengeance, but I shall never have.