Do You Think I'm Weird?Mature

...and my 34th scar deepened...

Razor-blades, scissors, broken bottles, rusted nails and safety pins,

A sharpened shrine of open veins, wrist sparkles with embedded things.

Head back, burning scalp, blood and hot-water, a stained shower-stall.

Up along my side, wire-thin tiger-stripes that will never see stitches,

Poke my eyes out, fake nails, artificial pain.

 

You need me but you push me away, too weird, ugly,

I might contaminate you.

Freakshow, I write failure, ugly, across my arms.

A dedication to you, my 'love.'

 

This hatred manifests below the surface,

A tumour festering behind manic laughter

And dried-out eyes. No more tears, I don't know how anymore.

 

So kill me a little more, destroy me like you did before,

Pills, discolouring in the jar, did they really think I'd take them?

Anti-depressants, I'm not anti-depression,

Please make me feel again.

I'm dying again.