She Draws Lines

This following poem is probably the most emotive I have ever done
about a subject that still seems to have a taboo about it. I feel very
close to this as I have had a few friends in the past who have suffered
from this. I hope that it carries the message well and invite any
e-mail, critical or otherwise, in the hope that I can improve upon it
if it is felt to be needed.

SHE DRAWS LINES

Silvery lines
down alabaster skin
segmented by raw and fresh
long scars, breaking the seal,
forcing the inside out.
Releasing the pain.
She draws so many lines but
she says she has a cat.

A tiger that lives
within a tortured soul,
searching for escape,
tearing at flesh-covered bars.
Temporarily free,
only then something real.
Closing the cage as she works,
keeping the cat sleeping.

Never long at peace,
distress wrapped so tight,
flowing within her veins,
aching for liberation.
She cuts to let it out,
welling up from its' cell.
Angst commuted through the wounds.
The cat purrs. She draws lines.