It’s an impulse that drives me when I’m bored or in pain.
A terrible impulse that I can not contain.
The more I resist the longer it strings me along
Like an addict
And going insane.
I do not enjoy it;
There’s no pleasure in this game.
Just comfortable numbness
That too subsides
Leaving nothing but terrible shame.
The problem is difficult to explain.
It’s a secret very well hidden,
Carefully guarded by masks of clothes, cosmetics, and excuses.
Few people know its name.
Scars and blood act as hangovers-
Painful evidence that the urge won’t subside.