A TRAIL OF SCARS
TW: Self Harm She is the fire, the goddess, the desire. She is the banshee haunting you at night, she is the Tyndall of the day. She's the art and she's the artiste. I traverse the arches of my skin like the travellers of the night, patiently waiting for a home to bury myself in, to breathe, to hold and to fathom. I find nothing. I want to taste the poison in my veins, the saline waters of the oceans, the nectar of the black cypress. I wish to repent for sins I have not committed, to cry for flaws that aren't mine, ache for a heart never broken before. So I split my skin open thread by thread in search of a home. I break my colosseum until all that is left is ash and stone and feel the overflowing sea of nothingness drowning me in, taking me whole. I use thorns to carve roses in my skin, I write poetry with my blood, I paint the sky the darkest shade of gloom. I sit still as I watch my wounds become scars and scars become haunting cries Until I do it all ov...
