Poem: Pick

[sherlockian_syn]

CW: self-harm, blood mention

Skin mottled with scars,
proof of injury,
record of pain.

I could let
those memories fade,
but instead

I pick.

I pick, I scratch, I tear
open old wounds
to live those moments again,
to see fresh flowing blood,
to prove I am still alive.

A reminder
that all good things end.

A reminder
that I never mattered.

A reminder
that will only cease

if I let it.

If I stop
picking myself
apart.

Comments

[smallhobbit]

So sad. Wounds that can never be left to fully heal.

[sherlockian_syn]

Yeah, hopefully one day they will be able to actually heal.

[brumeier]

This is so brutally honest, and the imagery is spot-on. This makes me want to hug you SO MUCH. ::hugs::

[sherlockian_syn]

I miss hugs! I'll take all the hugs!