These scars that grow more visible with each passing day,
Red and grotesque,
Followed by an incessant itch when the night is at its darkest,
Like being stabbed repeatedly by a million thorns,
This affliction spread in bits,
Until it took over all of me.
What once was smooth,
Is now rough,
Battered, ragged and torn,
So unpleasing to the eye,
How can I blame others when I’m repulsed by my own reflection.
I try to keep my wounds shielded away from the world.
Known only to me.
When the world lays asleep,
I’m still up,
Trying to get rid of the eternal itch,
To appease and make it disappear even for a while,
Someone’s set my skin on fire again.
Much as I try to keep myself diverted,
It eventually overpowers me,
Forcing me to cave,
In a vicious, recurring cycle each night,
I can only watch as my body dies a bit more in front of my helpless eyes.
It decays gradually,
Giving rise to these ghastly marks,
Torched by these flares,
A red ocean oozes from within,
Covered more in scars each passing night.
A love, which it craves,
Still eludes my skin,
Wanting to be stroked,
A soothing balm,
Wishing it wasn’t tearing itself down,
Seeking the rejuvenation from someone else which never comes.
It’s a pitiful sight,
I can almost hear it’s anguish,
The yells and pleas,
It yearns and implores,
To be treated with kindness,
And be stimulated.
My mind is the irritant and my fingers the aggressor,
When I lose control over myself,
They lash out again,
For momentary bliss,
I break apart what’s left.
Streams of blood and pus which follow,
It burns so bad,
To the degree, it threatens to incinerate me,
Or what’s left of me anyway.
But this condition only deteriorates,
I scratch away helplessly,
In an attempt to hush up the request to be loved.
Fingernails ripping apart my innocent love cells,
Until they’ve thickened,
Much like my heart.
Until my poor skin turns jet-black,
That’s the color and product of this cruel lichenification.
The reason why it deteriorated to this extent,
Is because it craved for love.
The same love it repulses now for being too ugly.
I’ve given up hope,
Maybe this is the way I’ll look for the rest of my life.
That’s all I’m left with,
For muffling, in what essence, is something everyone desires.
Self-inflicted scars do not heal,
They’ve now imprisoned me in this cell of inferiority,
Depriving me of the little pleasures of life,
It adds to my loneliness,
Pushes others further away.
When no ointment works,
No matter how much I try to fool myself,
Nothing can get past and break this barrier of self-loathe.
These rashes know better by now.
From ankle to neck,
In the blink of an eye,
They’ve spread all over.
From once being invisible,
To now horrid lesions to ward off everyone who approaches me.
With no way out,
I don’t want to, but I keep dousing myself in the poison which only feeds this weird affliction,
Because I have no other option,
I choose to embrace the very poison I owe my misery to.
Wounds I keep covered up.
Wounds I won’t ever show.
They’re too hideous to be exposed.
I’m allergic to myself,
It’s such a pity,
I’ve learned to live with this pain.
But no one ever notices,
I just want to go back to the way it was.
It’s too hard to hold myself together much longer,
These symptoms just don’t pass.
Please notice me first.
Before I keep destroying myself this way,
I hope someone saves me from myself.
Don’t just leave me to rot.
I want to be saved from myself before it’s too late.