Blood flows down the blank canvas
Known as my body.
Although,
It’s not really blank anymore.
It’s covered in thin red lines,
Caused by the metal blade in my hand.
There are blistering burns too,
Caused by the lighter
Kept in the kitchen drawer.
Some patchy spots
With missing skin,
Caused by the nails
That are attached to my very own hands.
Scars on my knuckles,
From when I force up my dinner.
Each and every night.
These scars I hide so well,
The secrets I’ll never tell
The scars that cover my body,
Which is a blank canvas no longer.