Every time I look into the mirror,
All my scars light up on fire…
Especially the big one that goes down my spine.
I hate it. But it’s mine.
And the small ones go up like little fireflies…
A representation of an operation when I was four,
and a picture of self-hatred back when I was nine.
All my scars and scratches a long string of unsolved little crimes…
A failed attempt when I was eighteen,
A fragile self-esteem,
a face drowned in tears and faint ‘please, love me.’
They never did…
And each scar in the place of millions of words,
doubts and uncertainty.
A ‘hold me’, but instead I’ll bleed.
And each day they serve as a reminder of I once healed.
And I’ll heal again.
With imaginary love and drug-induced zen.
And even if the pain comes back ten times ten,
I’ll remember to way back when.
This life is a prison, I’m just waiting to die,
for a crime against myself, a 25 to life.