TIGER SKIN

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.