Trigger warning: Cutting, self harm


Not technology
Not an accessory
Not a tool
Not a clock
Not a device
Not jewelry

My watch is a mask
A disguise, a cover
For the darkness I hide

As long as it’s there
As long as it stays put
They’ll never know
That underneath
There are marks which prove
Irrefutably
I’m living a lie
I’m not alright

But I can keep it quiet
Hiding my wounds
Beneath my watch band

I'll bear the consequences of falling in love with you.
Yet, you always make my heart flutter,
whether you sincere of your feeling,
or even it was just because you are that kind of person.

The pain will forever scar,
but the love will stays.
hoping that the consequences will turn around to you.

the serpent eats its tail
in my backyard
it waits patiently to
scar my back
remove the snakes,
they'll come again
the circle of life
fight back in vain
don't mind them

It cuts into me as a knife.
Scarring the surface of my soul.

Blood rolls down the blade
Carrying whispers of uncertainties.

It stares at me as it breathes me in,
And I breathe my last.

Slashes and cuts and bruises
You tell me I’m fine and I believe you
I press bandages to my skin and pretend.
Always pretending, always acting
Always saying I’m fine.

It began with a nudge, a slip,
A gentle flick to the ear.
"Dummy"

A tongue, a voice, a honeyed sound that
Slipped into my dreams and cradled my skull-
Until you dropped me suddenly, disappointed when I
Didn’t do as told.
"Ungrateful."

They came often then, thorns and glass in the corners of
My body, so that each time I moved I could not help but
Press them deeper into my skin.
"Lazy."
"Slow."
"Stupid."

The first punch was quick, almost painless
So that I lay in bed and ran my tongue over it,
A rotted tooth that spoiled and
Dripped sour down my throat.
"*****."

The first kick was sharp and jabbed
To the ribs, between the bones with steel-toed boots.
"******* ****."

The first cut was different
It stole blood, so that you put it to your mouth and tasted
Savored the iron and salt I made for you.
"*****."

When your fingers finally curled around my throat,
Something occurred to me.
Did it matter if I was so bruised and battered on the inside
If all anyone ever saw was the outside?
"Better off dead."
Did it matter if I bled or oozed or dripped with hurt
and hungered for love, if no one saw?
You didn’t like what you saw, you never did,
And you were the only one who saw the scars and
mutilated heart. So as long as no one saw,
No one would know. No one would ever know.
Not when my fear wasn’t enough
Not when my pain wasn’t enough
Not when everything I had to give and more wasn’t enough.
As long as no one knew how pathetic I was,
How ugly and scarred and utterly disgusting I was on the inside,
Then it didn’t matter.

My familiar haematoma
was happy dying,
thinking itself resilient
and settled into the can't
of lasting scaring.

And then the green came
and grew through the wounding,
imprinting its healing,
its green growing with hope
of growth, causing my pulsing
to phase into trusting
for perhaps
a whole new colourful beginning.