Mine
I'm bored today, but I can't cut my skin. I know you didn't want me to. I know it makes you sad.
I know that I could hide the bruises, the gashes, but I enjoy letting you see me. You make the salt burn my lips, and I know you can see the pain in my mind.
I'm dipped in moonlight; I'll make my own skin. One that you can't order around, one that you cant control. I'll make my own skin and I'll hide it. You can't have it.
It sticks to the hairs on my arms.
I wrap it around my wrist. Alright the same colour, it's right, I laugh; something is right for once.
Quiest my chuckling, uncover my razor blade.
There's three to a pack but I pick the first.
What good times were lost when the silk, parted from my arms, exposed scars? When he, my brother, saw me in my purest, rawest state, bleeding and crying? I felt exposed and vulnerable, how did he think I'd feel? Lashing out with my fists was the only way I knew how to cope, and he caught me.
Snapped and broken, I'd fallen, and he'd "nursed me back to health". But he never found the razor blades.
My new skin was perfect. Bored, I drew shapes and colours in red and purple ink. More red than purple, of course. I drew a demon and me and you all in red, then I coloured the demon's face in purple and picked up my blade. First, I cut your face, and that was because of your intrusion. Though somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I had brought you there, I was outraged to see your face on my skin.
I cut me, then, because I had wanted to all along. It was a mediocre drawing of me with small eyes and rounded cheeks, but I cut and cut, harder and harder.
The demon brought tears to my eyes. In the center of us, he stared at me blankly with his empty purple face.
I outlined him using the razor, then became both furious and excited.
I tear the tape from around my wrist like I"m unwrapping the first present on my birthday.
And I reel in shock.
I'd pressed too hard in my frenzy and broken through my real skin as well.
Now I scream, now I cry. I'm scared.
I know that I could hide the bruises, the gashes, but I enjoy letting you see me. You make the salt burn my lips, and I know you can see the pain in my mind.
I'm dipped in moonlight; I'll make my own skin. One that you can't order around, one that you cant control. I'll make my own skin and I'll hide it. You can't have it.
It sticks to the hairs on my arms.
I wrap it around my wrist. Alright the same colour, it's right, I laugh; something is right for once.
Quiest my chuckling, uncover my razor blade.
There's three to a pack but I pick the first.
What good times were lost when the silk, parted from my arms, exposed scars? When he, my brother, saw me in my purest, rawest state, bleeding and crying? I felt exposed and vulnerable, how did he think I'd feel? Lashing out with my fists was the only way I knew how to cope, and he caught me.
Snapped and broken, I'd fallen, and he'd "nursed me back to health". But he never found the razor blades.
My new skin was perfect. Bored, I drew shapes and colours in red and purple ink. More red than purple, of course. I drew a demon and me and you all in red, then I coloured the demon's face in purple and picked up my blade. First, I cut your face, and that was because of your intrusion. Though somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I had brought you there, I was outraged to see your face on my skin.
I cut me, then, because I had wanted to all along. It was a mediocre drawing of me with small eyes and rounded cheeks, but I cut and cut, harder and harder.
The demon brought tears to my eyes. In the center of us, he stared at me blankly with his empty purple face.
I outlined him using the razor, then became both furious and excited.
I tear the tape from around my wrist like I"m unwrapping the first present on my birthday.
And I reel in shock.
I'd pressed too hard in my frenzy and broken through my real skin as well.
Now I scream, now I cry. I'm scared.