Blood Soaked

Blood soaked into white,

They’ll see I write

Scars on my arm,

Stories of self-harm.

 

I will face their backs

When they search for relief,

Turning from tracks of grief.

I don’t blame them,

I wish I was them.

Someone but me.

 

This graffitied crate

Carries a heavier weight

Than a child should hold,

There are rips on my fold.

 

I draw to manipulate,

Even if I mutilate

I’m still in control,

Even if I cut flesh to soul.

 

I will face their backs

When they search for relief,

Turning from tracks of grief.

I don’t blame them,

I wish I was them.

Someone but me.

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