She says she can help me,
That she’ll numb all my pain.
She says it again,
And again, and again,
As I try to refrain from wondering
Who she’s trying to convince;
Me or herself.
And as I lay in her arms
And look into her eyes
The pain resurfaces.
Because I realise that this is fake:
She doesn’t want me,
She needs me.
She NEEDS me to drive out her demons,
Out from her mind, with no rhyme or reason
And stright into mine, self-damning treason,
Destroying my soul, the soul that she feeds on,
The soul that she promised to save.
She looks at my scars and she says she can heal me
I force out a smile , and I think that she feels me
And gently she asks why.
So I tell her.
I tell her I need them.
I need the pain to remind me I still feel at all
I need these fucking scars which map every fall
from grace, my mistakes
Are the things which define me,
And these marks on my skin
Only serve to remind me
That no matter how far I’ve fallen
Or how close I’ve danced
To Death’s cold embrace
That those gates never closed;
And the reaper, deprived
of this soul so despised
Leaves her mark on my flesh
As she nurses her pride.
I need these scars to remind me of every bad decision I ever made…
Because I need to remember:
That through countless promises broken and more dreams denied
I have a permanent record of how I survived.