Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

I scare therapists

Another notch,
Just another scar.
Wound slick with memories
Of how beautiful scissors feel
On bare, pale skin.
Dissatisfied with rage,
I discipline myself and pay homage
To those who suffered before me.
While I enact hate upon the self,
I spin a web of guilt and
Get caught up in regret,
Though I feel suffering can be
Afforded to even the most lackluster beings.
I let the gashes dry out,
Reminders of my fail.
I let go of shame,
Play with my razorblades
And go to therapy like a good little girl.
I'm calm and quiet, but
Inside, I'm quite the tornado.
Reason juts away from me,
My body is a road map of scars
And I'm not done mapping...


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I scare therapists

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