You call that coping?

I use a blade to scratch an itch,
An itch that I simply cannot reach,
I peal away the dirty skin,
Make blood show,
Flow out from within…

I use a blade as a way to cope,
Move up in the world,
Out of myself….

I see a scar, a crimson line,
As the marks of the past,
As the marks of the pain…

And as they heal, I regain.
I remain and stay lost,
In the redness of the world around,
Always stuck in the presence of a frown,
What fools the world came make us be,
What humanity can do to a soul in absence of death…