I cut up my wrist again..
I wish I could feel bad about it, but I don’t.
It looks beautiful.
I love the look of blood red cuts against my pale skin.
I don’t know why..It’s just, they tell a story.
I look at all my scars and I remember when I made each one, Why I did it.
It reminds me that I’m real. That I’m alive.
Whenever I don’t have any fresh cuts,Its like I lose myself. I hate just having fading scars..It’s like part of me is fading away with them.
Notes
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justmythreepatchproblem said:
This is strangly beautifully described :S <3
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shadowswanttogetme posted this
