Yeah I'm fine,

I say as my fingernails dig into my skin. Ripping it away, blood running.
Open wounds showing.

Weeks to heal over, with scars that stay forever.

One isn't enough. There's more.

Running fingertips over skin, feeling the imperfections. Ripping them away.

Causing more pain.

Yelled and accused.

Scratch marks over mind and body. Cutting deeper and deeper down, causing insanity.

It's just skin. Just stop. Your hurting yourself. It's not healthy.

Only now do you see the pain inside me!?
Only the physical scars show, never the ones you gave me.

Tearing my skin away, like it doesn't fit me.

Wounds get worse, scars get scary.
Skin itches, your mind can't control your hands.

The skin rips away, stinging pain, then a sliver of reflow before to guilt. Blood bleeding through.

It hurts me.

Open wounds, uncontrollable urges, blood stained clothes, itchy scabs, marked with scars.

Why ca-n't you help me?
I cry out.

But you only yell.
It could kill you!

If so, why do you not care?
I just relief.

A built in stress toy, that tears away who I am.

But yeah, I'm fine.
At least in someone's eyes...?