Internal Damage

There are no deep ridges in my wrists,
No blood beading from the wounds.
I do not carve my sadness into my skin,
Drawing out the adrenaline to edge away the pain.
My own mind can hurt me more than any blade,
It can cut deeper than the sharpest scalpel.
I scream, but it always comes out as, “I’m okay.”
My pride keeps me from saying, “I’m dying.”
Should I smash a bottle into my arm,
Just to show you how much this hurts?
No, my scars do not show, but they
Run deeper than my own veins.