Stumbling through life,
as if falling down stairs.
The path rough and steep,
I can’t keep myself standing.
I sit on the side of the road –
the path of destiny I journey on.
I take out my knife – my best friend;
straight and sharp, as if never been used.
Running the blade softly against my wrist,
revealing scars of the past.
One scar per memory,
easing the mental suffering.
No room left on my wrist,
I lift up my skirt slightly.
More scars and healing cuts are found.
My thighs covered in lines – shades of pink.
Placing the blade gently on my leg,
pushing down to break the skin.
Blood seeps from the fresh wound,
this ritual, repeated several times.
As the blood runs down my thigh,
a feeling of loosened tension overcomes me.
Wiping my blade clean,
I’m ready to continue stumbling.
Replacing the knife to its pocket,
I stand back on my feet.
Cautiously I begin to walk again.
Slower this time, but more steady.