The door is shut again
I'm the one that shut it.
They are the ones that started it
How can you live in a home like this?
I can't, so I shut the door.
I sit in the center of a room still decorated from childhood.
I don't see it
when I do, I certainly don't feel it.
For hours I sit
the room closes in around me.
Their voices find the cracks around my door
even shut it can't shut out their words.
it can't shut out their silences.
It's been like this so long,
I've felt like this for so long.
When will it change?
It will never change.
I can't cry anymore
Not hard but hard enough
I don't know why I wanted to cry.
I file my nails
something to fill the time.
It slipped I tell myself
as the point of the metal file stabs into my skin.
I felt that.
do it again.
This time my wrist
I feel that.
I do it again
one drop works its way through the layers of open puffed up skin.
I'm excited to see it
I feel that.
I hear her voice through my door.
I hide the file, pull my sleeve down
turning toward it.
She would stop me if she knew
it's nothing she needs to stop.
I want to do it again.
An image of it slowing dragging over the skin of my arm
layer by layer of skin removed until I see that first blood.
I already feel the need to do it
to feel that pure simple rush of emotion through me.
It's the first time I have felt since I shut that door
I know I will do it again.