Control

She picked up the knife and sliced another tally mark in her skin to make sure she kept count of all the ways she had failed. 
And she loved the sense of control, 
This was a number she could control,
But

All those dirty bruises endless showers would never wash away. 
She just wanted to see the angry purple circle the drain. 
Wanted to breathe out deeply and be rid of this pain.

And she’d surrender a little control for some vague sense of perfection,
A little of that thing we all senselessly chase. 
God knows the numbers are climbing and she’s running out of space.