To take a blade and feel it rip
Across the veins, reaping the blood within
To watch the beading of the red
To feel inside, on the outside collect
To part the skin, to hear it speak
A wound more vocal than the soul within
To have a body that reflects
All the flaws, the imperfect
To break the fingers, hear them crack
To hold them up, say "Look at that
Here are the marks of scars within
The cracks are rising, up out of my skin."
To scratch fissures upon my face
All the punctures that spell disgrace
Or such disgust towards the view
The reflection that now represents you.
