I sit on the closed toilet seat. This is where I come when I need to collect my thoughts. When I need to get my shit together. It used to be where I lost my shit (pun intended) but not anymore. Out of the corner of my eye, I see red lines on my thigh. I see blood oozing out of the cuts. But when I look down, they’re gone. Instead, they’re replaced with white lines. There are no fresh cuts. Only scars of those done months ago. Memories. I consider adding a few more. But no. I haven’t done it in a long time. I shouldn't start again now. I am okay. I am strong.
No comments:
Post a Comment