you & i are human,
flesh and bones and muscle and blood,
so terrifyingly easy, bent too far,
just to mock the limits of our bodies,
pushing sensation to the edge of collapse.
blades and sharp points
seem more rapturous than
a cowardly death in a bottle.
the 'bits inside rattle
when you shake it.
self-harm is not right,
yet i still fell into it,
but i stopped short,
caught and squeezed it when
it still warbled like a fledgling.
let me tell you something you might not yet know:
cutting is just a facet:
burning skin with hot showers,
scratching deeply, trickling crimson,
pulling your hair and scalp out,
is also the raw, desperate and ugly truth i sought.
never should you glory in this.
do not brag, for if you are truly
under the spell, it has become the
closest enemy, the root of
decay grown fat.
please try instead to
snap a rubber band
against your palms,
try slamming your fists
into the mattress,
try holding an ice
cube until it melts.
do anything but whatever
you are attempting to stop doing.
just take a step.
i beg of you.
i know i may be perceived as less than worthy:
a shaky, recovered victor over depression,
trying to convince anyone who will listen
that hurting yourself is never going to heal you.
and i hope that you know this
already but i need to say it,
again and again, because pain brings no respite.
it doesn't even promise you that seeking pain will
somehow ground and root you.
i will admit i disassociate,
i no longer take refuge in the practice of it.
i just need to tell you:
and you do not need pain.
the only things you need, you have inside your soul and spirit.