This Is Darker Than I Expected

I was born, took my first breath

Born into a genaration that favors death.

What inspires me? What ignites that spark,

Where the beating organ is placed? My "mark".

Whether good or bad, that mark has brought growth.

That mark, that stained slate, whether commendable or flawed,or both

Has pushed me past blades against my skin,

Gagging in my dustbin.

To where I am today

Being happy with how much I weigh

And to my cutting adventures, I say ciao.

But the real question is, "what happens now"?