I hold the edge close to my vein,
Shaking with guilt and anxiety.
My tears flow softly and smoothly,
Sanitizing the blade with salt water.
Slowly, I raise my face to the mirror
To view my scars and bloodshot eyes.
Hmmpph, self-bruising and abuse,
Only takes the pain away temporarily.
The contrast between silver and red
Reminds me of a civil time in my life,
When life didn’t render me psychotic
And imbalanced in my body and mind.
I bring myself back to reality and focus
On the present task literally in my hand.
I dig the edge into the almond dermis
And magically a crimson fountain flows.
I am a damsel in distress releasing
Myself from pain and deep sorrow,
These teardrops mixed with blood,
Cleanse my worn-out soul and heart.
–by Maria Mocha © 2010