Self-Harm

Other people's words go round in my head
Like wheels on the car that could take me anywhere
If I had the time to run away
And I am writing this poem to stop from cutting my skin
The skin that's too big to fit me
I am lost in here.
I hate the feeling of the blade slicing through my cells
And I hate the compulsion to dig deeper
But I love the blood's escape,
Those droplets of artistry
And I love the red line that forms
Like a memory,
Though I hate again the morning after.
I hate the decision, the calculated question
Of where on my body is mine
But I love those private parts of me,
And having something, like a mother, to look after.
For a minute, until I step out of these waters
And dry my anxieties back on to my skin,
For a minute they are mine
And I am their's, and together
The world fades away