The Devil's Love-Ridden Abuse || POETRY

187

I've got burns
where your hands used to lie
collateral damage
of the hands on training I have

I hear girls say
they wish their skin would burn
where those boys had touched them
to erase any trace of them
as if it was as easy
as water spilt on ink-filled papers

the irony that
where your fingertips used to graze,
3,000°F metal has covered up
almost as if supernatural signs

a woman asked me today
if I needed help
if there was someone she should call for me
I looked at her with utter confusion
and she motioned to my circular burns
slowly healing but scratch marks
from my incessant clawing
small enough to be the remnants of needles
especially in the crook of my elbow

it reminded me of when
I told you I had an addiction-prone personality
it runs in the family
and your words were exactly
"The beginning of an addiction, is the end of us."
such irony in that promise, Devil