Healing
I've given it my blood, sweat, tears,
It has taken every ounce of self-control,
I've been so close to relapsing but I didn't,
I did all that I could and I did it.
I've been clean.
But I undress, I strip,
I stare at myself in the mirror with eyes open wide,
It frustrates me to not see myself bleed, not in suffering, not in pain.
I zoom in on the scars that I once punished myself with, they're healed, they don't bleed, they don't hurt.
The violence, the anger, the rage they once were now they're just innocent marks left by crimes of hatred.
I should be happy to see my scars heal,
I should celebrate the disappearance of them,
Instead, I cry, it takes everything in me to not try to give myself new ones,
The healing doesn't fit right with me,
Peace, calm, tranquillity, they're unsettling to me.
The curse lies in me it eats me I become the curse.
I cannot fathom anything good.
Every inconvenience results in bloodshed,
I try to stop myself,
But I know I never can
I can't not go back to my old ways
The story of my life is written in blood
Then who am I to stop the blood from dripping
After all, it's me who's hurting no one else
I can make the choice,
Every ounce of pain and suffering I am well deserving of,
So there's no true point in stopping, not being in pain is going to do no good to me, so why should I even consider putting an end?
Healing is a myth
Recovery is a lie.
Copyright ©
Celia St. James
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