another expression of exquisite sorrow.

just... 
stop. 

you & i are human, 
flesh and bones and muscle and blood,
breakable, frail. 

so terrifyingly easy, bent too far,
just to mock the limits of our bodies,
pushing sensation to the edge of collapse.
too far. 

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. 
please.

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:
you're beautiful. 
you are,

and you do not need pain. 

the only things you need, you have inside your soul and spirit. 

The End

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