Scars

Why doesn’t anyone notice?
Why does no one seem to care?
Can nobody see?

The scars on my arms, each one a scream
Each one a tear, each one a dream
Each one a wish, for someone to love me;
Each one a call for help, but help never comes.

Crying out in the dark, screaming in the night
Pain closing in, the world’s weighing down
Til finally my senses, they just start to overact
I know what it’s time to do-
That shameful thing that I do when things get too heavy.
As blade meets flesh, I feel the familiar rush of blood
Then the sensory shutdown I craved
The murky, dull blackness of apathy
All my desires quenched.
My emotions are cleansed, and finally, there is relief.
They say this makes me a freak,
I could never tell the world my little secret.
Or should I say secrets
For there are far more than one,
56 scars
All up and down one arm.
The right arm’s my victim
Because he can take it,
And each time I draw blood I remember the words
Of the only other cutter I’ve met:
“Each time you see the blood,
You know you’ve lost this time
You’ve let depression win
You’ve been beaten out again.”

What’s all this happening to me?
What’s become of my life?
Why do I feel this way?
What happened?
I was happy as a kid.
Everything was good for me.
Until one day, I met a girl.
I loved her so much.
She was my whole world.
But, one day she told me
Her lilting angelic voice
She had no love for me
And I should take my love
Somewhere else.

When I heard that, my whole world shattered
Everything crashed in
I felt pain unlike anything
I hated myself and everyone
Until finally in a fit of depression
I took a razorblade and slashed open my wrist
And sweet, merciful apathy filled my consciousness.

I’ve never been the same since then,
And the blood seeps every week.
Sometimes, rarely though,
I feel as though I’m happy
But then I turn my arm over and am reminded
Of the monster I’ve become.