The Marks
Marks don't have to be on open skin.
This is a lesson well learned. Because it is within the human condition to want to heal hurt as soon as it comes. To rid ourselves of whatever pain we might have stumbled upon.
Sometimes that pain is buried deep within our souls. And we feel like we are drowning within our own hopelessness and unable to reach out. Trapped in this never ending cycle that wishes to bring the pain forward, to make it something that you can feel and make better.
Emotional pain is possibly the worst of all pain. It blinds you to the joys of life. Stealing the glamour from the stars and ensuring that the sun looks rather like it could burn you instead of warm your skin. And so you need to make it real, to make the pain something you can manage.
The razor always looks tempting.
The thought of blood running down your arm consumes your every thought. You become addicted to the feeling of being in control. It's like you might not survive if you cannot make the pain you feel into something of your own making. Because the thought of just having to leave yourself at the mercy of your emotions is horrifying.
You want to run and hide from everyone. Bury yourself deep enough in the caverns of your own minds that no one would see you. In a place where the pain is physical and your mind is alright.
Eventually it never becomes enough.
You have to cut deeper. You have to let yourself bleed for just a little longer. And next time you know it will be the same. A never ending cycle that goes from bad to worse until you finally manage to cut too deep. Or you somehow let yourself bleed just a little too long.
But that thought does not bother you anymore.
You begin to cherish that moment in your mind. The moment when you know that you will die by your own hand of this curse. When you'll feel the blood leaving too quickly, but won't try to stop it. And you know you won't try, this is what scares you.
Not the prospect of dying, but your nonchalance to it. But you begin to wonder if this was not always how it had been. You needed that relief and everything came with a price. Not a single thing in this life was free. Perhaps the price of this freedom is no longer having a life to be free in.
The white marks line your arms now.
They zig zag. Crossing each other over and over again. Creating a bitter pathway across a body filled with shame. A road carved by steel and iron against flesh, where the unyielding cold bite of metal meets skin. The newer ones are red and the older ones are white. They don't scare you either.
You observe the monster you've made yourself into. And begin to wonder what became of that child you knew. Someone so innocent now tainted forever by their own possible martyrdom that it cannot be recovered.
A flutter is in your chest. And something clicks. A switch is turned and you want to know why you can't just leave. Why God don't put you out of the misery that keeps you crying every day. Tearing yourself down and beating out any last hope you may have had.
So you poise the razor. Gripping the edges ever so gently as you prepare. You're confident this is going to be the last time. The air glitters with the thought of finally being free. But that's when he comes along.
Eyes like the ocean that you are wanting to drown in. Skin tan like the rope you wished to use to hang yourself. Stare as cold as the metal blade on your wrist. Hair as black as the gun you were tempted to cock next to your temple.
He's everything good it seems when you look. Almost the perfect picture of a person who is whole. And you wonder why this beautiful creature would bother looking at you. That is until you see the arms of this beautiful creature for yourself.
He has his own white lines. His own broken road. A story unique to himself written across his skin just like yours. His face tells you all you need to know. And you are ready to bury your entire being with the comfort offered by a friend.
For this amazing person loved someone. And this someone loved them back. Soon enough all thoughts had faded from their minds. Becoming stagnant as light pushed away the darkness and lingering erri feeling.
You no longer wish to die.