The pressure from the knife
Eases my emotional pain.
For a few seconds, my tears
Aren’t caused by my raw self-loathing.
For at least a minute, i remember
How it feels to desire my next breath.
The thick, pink, exposed flesh,
Coloring with a dark blotchy shade of red,
Stirs something fleeting within me.
It stirs the yearning to fix the breakage
That has not only resulted from
The penetration of my skin,
But rather the one that exists deep within my soul.
The fleeting yearn elapses,
And another image comes into play.
Where the tip of the blade
Is positioned between my left ribs,
And an external force pitifully drives it in.
But that image turns blurry,
Fogged by the idea of losing control,
And losing the power to give myself yearning.
I know that by the next day
The pink flesh will have covered itself up,
Darkening; permanently marking my tiger skin.
The scars may last forever,
But the yearning is gone in seconds.
I’d do anything to feel it again,
Even if it means re-painting my tiger skin.