scarring

a small spot of blood shows itself slowly

a perfect circle of deep red, squeezing out of the skin

it doesn't hurt that much. so i keep biting

the taste of blood and nail polish, not the best tasting

but the motion keeps my mind in the moment, which is hard for me.

i may have broken something

my body creaks like i am 90

i don't even notice i'm doing it, cracking myself as if i'll glow

my fingers swell, my back hurts, i get sore

i don't do it on purpose. it's comforting

remember when i talked about that perfect circle of deep red? this is not like that

this is not made from nervous teething

this is from pain, wanted pain

the blade of a scissor slicing into skin

why does she do that? she's looking for attention

no.

i wish i was.

there is no slow seep of blood from a tiny wound

this is a stream of steady metallic life, created by another piece of metal

the deep red is watered down when a tear drips onto my arm

the mingling of light red quickly runs down the side and onto my bedspread

evidence.

like the scars aren't already evidence enough, dumbass.

this is a past memory

the blood has dried, the wounds have healed

physical ones.

the scars remain. they are a part of me now. does it resemble strength or weakness? i

     don't know.