For you,

I carve the curved blade into my flesh,

Twisting it deeper,

Over and over again

For you,

I suffer

Bearing bleeding wounds,

I shamble on

Wearing a facade of normalcy,

Acting as if nothing bothers me

For you,

I do it all

As always,

Too wrapped up in your own little world,

You don't realize

What I go through

All to stay strong

For you

Never do you see

The aged, scabbed scars

Covering me

To you,

It's nothing more

Than a fleeting fever dream

Why?

Why do I do this

All

For you?

Sixty lines

Carved with the sharpest blade into the soft flesh of my soul.

The scars on the outside heal

But the sixty bright red lines will never.

Each time feels like the first

A fresh wound dig into my confidence,

My sanity, my being.

Sixty bright lines,

One for each time you took my freedom.

Sixty lines that will never stop releasing their fountain of blood

Sixty lines of pure agony

Carved with the knife of betrayal.

Sixty scars that will never fade,

Sixty lines

Of pure torture

That will never heal.

Each time I pick you up,

You cut another part of my soul up

Sixty times, and I never seem to learn.

But now,

I’m

Fucking

Done

Helping.