Can’t wait to get home, away from this nonsense.
Honestly? Who cares about who’s dating who
Or who the hottest kid in school is.
No, when you can come home to feel the dreaminess of pain,
All those typical things become trivial, unimportant.
Silently closing your door, you hide from the world.
Finally a few moments of peace to slip away for a while.
No, you’re not there to play video games.
You’re not talking to the boyfriend mom doesn’t know
about.
You’re relieving yourself
of pain, finding your only escape.
You pull out the only thing you can always trust.
It’s not like people. People leave, they
break promises.
The one simple blade
of metal, that’s a different story.
Always in your pocket, always there to do its job.
Slowly breathing in, you finally experience a moment of delight.
It goes deeper into your skin, releasing everything.
Blood drips down your arm, and you smile.
You’re finally free. It’s your own little secret.
Nobody has to know, and they probably won’t,
You’re finally alone and no one’s here to stop you.
Finally the delicious cut, the delicious drink.
The delicious flame, the delicious scars.
The best part is it’s all yours to keep.
No one gets to share your satisfaction.
You did it all behind closed doors.
Eventually
the delicious pain leaves.
Leaving
you to open your door and go back.
Back
to the pitiful, meaningless world you came from.
Desperately waiting for your next chance
To feel deliciousness again.
By Tori Boldt
