Deep

The SCALPEL.

No wonder doctors use it.

Perfectly designed for flesh and all manners of such occupations.

Fascinating.

I took it.

Hid it.

Kept it.

Took Pictures.

Wonderful Contraption.

Subtle,

Deadly,

Effective Affective,

What fragment of flesh can halt its path.

Bow to the king, you worthless skin,

Make way for the queen, bloody Mary

Marie’s Bloody

Ha, Ha, Ha,

How Ironic

Nothing can stop the rampage of ribbons and bows that coat the ground

What is pain

What is agony

Does it exit on the outside in the nerves and tingles of the epidermis

If so, then why is the majority of this tight, cruel, crushing feeling inside me

Deep

In the Sky

The Scalpel

It so happened that the family had several kits that were used in dissecting dead 

Creatures for school.

They were gone that day.

I needed blood.

I needed pain.

I needed something to arouse this current sensation in my body.

I remembered the kits.

It had been two years

But I still remembered.

I always remembered.

My tool.

My favorite.

The most effective device I have found yet.

The SCALPEL.

My Cutter

Effective

Razors.

Their gleaming points.

The nice thing about razors

Is that you can pull them across your skin and they won’t hurt until later.

But the blood,

The amount of blood a razor can produce in caparison to scissors

Or any other type of cutter can be the maximum for the type of stroke.

However,

Using this in relation to my favorite cutter is nothing.

You see, the thing about razors is that if you pull your stroke too weak

In the beginning or in the end you end up with razor burn.

Razor burn lasts weeks,

Leaves no mark,

Creates no blood,

And stings like

Hell.

Blood is what obsessed me

And that I what I needed to have when I psyched out.

However the family got wise to my frequent exploits and abducted all the razors.

Or so they thought.

All they did was turn me to a new device that proved far more

Effective.

I did this today.

Sister

A tragedy struck.

Something with the family.

My sister.

My stupid,

Stupid

Sister.

Older sister.

Now I’m the oldest out of all the siblings.

Ok, fine,

I can be the eldest if necessary.

Sister.

What a painful word.

What a sad, horrible word.
Sister.

Sister.

What kind of pain is this inside?

Just that word circles a set of events that took me down to

Razors.

Beautiful

Early Masochism

A week later I busted my nose open myself.

Put my finger in it and slammed my face against the wall.

I took pictures with my camera.

Loved every minute of it.

I review them every once in a while to bring back the memories.

Finger Painting

Blood 4 the 1st time

From there how did it progress?

How else?

Scissors never did touch my skin.

I went straight from scissors to razors.

With their tantalizing edges,

But I never got insane enough to cut deep.

Scratches and razor burns were all I really got up to.

I had never really seen blood in large quantities until one day—for no apparent Reason—

I got a bloody nose.

That was the last moment I can recall my sanity.

I had never in my life had a bloody nose.

Blood

Was a new concept for me.

It was a new taste.

A fantastic

Color.

A completely ideal

Sensation.

It was coming out of nose in gobs,

Running down my face,

Coating my hands.

Into my mouth.

That

Bitter

Sweet

Taste.

How wonderful.

I crave it even now.

Glorious mixture.

What type of a liquid can such a thing be?

Truly there must be some sort of

Demonic

Power over such a thing.

How can it be so strong and appealing?

Coming Down to the Wrists

Not out of the Ordinary

I grabbed those scissors by their ends

And flung them outside of the bathroom.

I locked the door and fled behind the toilet.

But the damage was done.

Those scissors would always haunt me.

No one thought this was serious.

No one thought that this behavior was terribly out of the ordinary.

 

My Weapon of choice

Scissors

But just the attack wasn’t enough.

Suddenly during the attack I would start clawing my face and my arms with my Finger-nails.

Fortunately, these marks would never stay on my face and arms for very long.

But one day someone left a pair of scissors on the counter.

I stared at those scissors.

Their

Gleaming

Points

Were looking at me.

I crawled to the other side of the bathroom and clung to the walls.

Those scissors were looking at me,

Trying to come at me and tear me to pieces.

I screamed.

They were calling me,

Hounding me.

Then suddenly they were

Attacking

Me.

Scars: new and old

The Floor

I hardly remember what I did, but everyone in the family saw me and told me that Whatever I do they didn’t want to see me psych out like that again.

 

I turned to the bathroom and started my mad panic attacks in there.

Whenever something would happen that I couldn’t handle I would walk calmly into The bathroom,

Curl up on the floor,

And sob like a child.

Sometimes I would make a silent scream.

Something that would rise in my throat, but I would never let it rise in volume.

The pitch was so high it was more like a shriek.

I began to drool and let it come out my mouth and make little puddles on the Linoleum floor.

After the attack would cease, I clean up my mess and walk out of the bathroom fully Composed.

Many Times this Pain I Seem

How it started

How did it start?

I hardly remember how it started.

I remember I had gone crazy before.

The family had gotten into a fight, and I completely lost my mental capacities.

I began laughing and crying at the same time.

My nose ran and I curled up in a ball with my legs hugging my chest.

I couldn’t stop…what was it…was I laughing or crying?

I couldn’t tell.

I couldn’t think.

Tears of...

Maybe

Maybe it's not real.

Maybe I'm faking it.

Maybe I'll the only one who knows I'm not.

Maybe you won't believe me.

Maybe you will.

Maybe you will turn away and look at something else.

I understand. 

It's not pleasant.

But reality rarely is.

Maybe I'm all right.

Maybe I'm not. 

"Maybe" I shouldn't use this word anymore.

My Secret in a photo

Understanding me

                                   Pour out, pour out, bitter love

                                   Gorgeous essence in a flood

                                   Who would have thought that it’d be blood.