**deals with self harm. I don’t need negativity – don’t read it if the subject isn’t something you can handle. And possible trigger warning**
There’s the initial moment, when the knife first slashes to create a rush of adrenaline and twisted euphoria, and the red looks too brilliant to even be real.
There’s a month later, when the wound has faded to a pink or silvery scar, a ghost of whatever pain caused it. Haunting, but beautiful in a way.
The beginning and the end are ghastly in their own right; ghastly…. and lovely, if you like that sort of thing.
It’s the middle that gets to me. When your body’s trying to get back what you’ve torn away and the sharp pain has faded into a constant ache. The bloody tissues are knitting back together and lying dried to brown in the trash. When your disbelieving cells have had time to process what you’ve done to them and are trying to fix you the way you can’t fix yourself.
Healing wounds are too real.