The metallic self sabotage that proved that not all loyalty should be rewarded.

My arm is full of the scars that serve as the memories of the times that reason made way for sabotage, my self inflicted fascination of funnelling the emotional into the physical, Loyal is the pain that straddles the line between broken and sane,

I watch all the fake smiles hiding the nonchalant cares of the world that pass me by before hearing the wind as it whispers back the words that fall from the lips of the enemies and the friends that can’t understand a life outside the perimeters of there own existence, 

I used to slowly caress the blade across my skin as it craved for the metallic taste that made way for that intoxicating red that was the signal that I needed to give me the go ahead to drain all of my pain away,  Is it weakness, to watch your own blood in the quietness of the razorblade?

You maintain your silent for a moment longer awaiting the pain to feel the void as  you seek that small bit of death that keeps you real somehow, Your arms slowly became the battlegrounds of war, paintings of solitude and scar tissue hang around you trying to cling to a surface, 

Replacing the emptiness of the stranger that walks in your shoes by letting yourself free with an incision to mark an exit, Your vessel has been lost to the numbness that has lost the ability to feel even the faintest sound of your heartbeat, so you entice yourself out with a crimson flag of subservience, awaiting permission that there will always be a tomorrow,

I learnt how to replace the razors with a pen, now I slowly caress this ink across the page, I’m lost in the intoxicating black of my words that talk back, is it weakeness to read back all the thoughts that you doubt?In the quiet contemplation of a page filled with the those feelings you’ve needed to let out.