Sometimes, unwillingly, I think about the good things in my life, and no matter how hard I try I just can't shut those things out.
Even during my darkest hour.
Even when I have an attack and I can't breathe, and my throat feels sour.
And even when I'm in the shower,
scarlet blood dripping down my body, slowly
into the drain.
I feel this pain.
Against my brain.
This was no accident.
My mouth is dry, but I will myself not to cry.
This is the only time I have alone.
Sitting alone.
The steaming hot water absorbing the scars on my skin.

I hear a knock, on the door.
And it's my brother.
He's crying.
He wants to know why we dont spend much time with each other.
I've neglected him,
just as others have neglected me.
But that's not how I wanted it to be.

Sometimes, he tells me that he wishes my friends were his sisters,
instead of me.
Maybe he really thinks I'm cruel, but I don't mean to be.
I act like I don't care, but it haunts me when I try to sleep.

There's another knock.
This time it's shame.
Guilt seeps in and I wish that I can go back to when the blood was still in my veins and not traveling it's way down the drain.
But it was too late.

I have that dream over and over.
So much, that I'm almost too frightened to lay my head down at night,
because unfortunately, nightmares are dreams too.

I hide it all away, but it's excruciating to try and hold a secret when it's tattooed all over your body.
It's like an endless game of tag, and each time your tagged
you add a few more lines.

It's been a while, but I can't forget.
Although I try.
I still have to hide,
underneath long sleeves so no one sees
and leaves.

I still get nervous when people grab my arm.
I still get angry when people joke about self harm.
And I still sit and think about what would've happened if I had went too far.

Every once in a while, there are tears.
But when my eyes are no longer blurry I get a glimpse.
Of my old self as she slowly, but surely, reappears.