Slice (Poetry)

2 0 0

Those stretch marks on her

Thighs, and the

Scars next to

Those.

Those weren't there

Before the

Attack.

Her mind riddled with anxiety,

The attack came swiftly; easily.

Body shaking and sweating,

Heart racing,

Eyes crying,

Everything curling

Into the fetal position--

Her new favorite pose to

Take on this scary thing called

Life.

She didn't like it.

The cutting,

tormenting herself,

Believing the things no person had told her but herself... And society.

She hated herself for doing it,

But it was an addicting poison within her,

A slow suicide without the death,

An oxymoron,

And a vicious cycle of nonsense.

She had great friends, sure,

But she was her greatest enemy;

For the worst demons

Existed within her head, more complex than

The simple monsters

Under her bed.

It was evil, this darkness and judgement; this stigma from society.

It unjustly swallowed her whole,

Taking only the things

The darkness needed,

Leaving her with

Nothing but

Nails to bite

And

Skin to slice.

Leaving her with nothing but

Self-hate and her

Stomach nothing but the fat it loathed.

What.

A.

Pickle.

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