Looking in the mirror

The reflection you see

Is not what you desire.

But the status quo lets you know

That once you are

It’s all you ever will be…

Your pen is sharp

And mightier than a sword.

It still cuts deep to penetrate

Your trigger of release.

In that moment of pain

Somehow you find a sense of twisted peace…

Someday when you are sober,

No longer drunk on numbness,

You will see that no sleeves are long enough

To hide your chiseled limbs…

I pray that you will see

That knives, scissors, and razors

Do not have erasers.

Their red ink never fades away

And years from now when you wish to forget

The scars will never let you…

So while you stare

At your blank canvas, contemplating;

While your fists clutch a quill,

Remember you are the author of your story.

You can decide when a chapter ends

And what things are better left unwritten…

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