expressive
depressive
destructive
defeatist and defective

With no clear motive
and inconsistent incentives,
I deface my figure, and
am defenseless to self-directed disdain.

Not only is satisfaction derived, but clarity, empowerment, and a thirsted-after false sense of control when I am marred by a blade; so analogous to outward blows received from mother incompotent, sister selfish, brother blinded, and father unfriendly...

Still I approach the expected interrogative, that is, why?
Why do I?
Why do I do this, time after time? And beyond that- why does it disguise itself as a momentary solution?

If this girl had the answer, she would have fingertips free of rusty red, an almost-clear conscience, and a much clearer head.

All I know is that I go
from stable and calm
to an unpredictable bomb
when emotion's absence makes itself plain
or when feeling is overwhelming, and I seek relief from the pain. Now by "feeling's absence" I mean numb- exhausted, just jaded; tured and done.

Succumb to an urge to express a frustration, a need to erase that which is too much to face, a way to distance myself from the person towards whom I feel such distaste.

I have no clear cause for this absence of self-love,
yet i find myself dragging an edge past the dermis and waiting for crimson to flow, like the tears I can't bring myself to bring back, in this moment where pain is expected the most, and I feel it the least.