I torture myself, it's a fetish

I stick needles - sharpened little memories - into the most sensitive of spots,

Enduring the pain enough to stab with another ... and another ...

It's true, you know ... you get used to the pain

You hurt yourself in one area to dull the pain in another

But it doesn't last; it all comes back in the end

Just work through what's there and learn from your mistakes

I lose myself in this ritual

Rehashing the past again and again, dwelling on my problems

Facing Life head on (nothing is trivial) no need to hide

Once the hurt is gone, you find out who you really are

There's a discomfort that looms over this discovery, and the pain has almost disappeared

I just sit and wait for yet another pin of agony to push what I am away ...

I'm not ready yet

This masochistic routine is becoming what I am and I hate myself for It

But who would I be without it?

She once called me her Little Thinker; I fit the title well

That seems so long ago ... or was it?

Or did I lose myself in another needle

In an attempt to grow stronger and forget ...