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Feb. 28th, 2018 @ 04:14 pm Poem - The Scars Below
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
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In the mid-2000s an intuitive person told me that I would be publicly writing in the future. At that time I was using a mostly personal blog to document my struggles. My reaction to the person was, “why would I want to write about maddness and who would read it?” Since then I’ve moved onto other fare, but on some days the question is just a valid. Today is one of those days. The poem “The Scars Below” is another dark affair. I offer a trigger warning that the topic of self-harm is indirectly touched on. While I have never physically self-harmed, I have spiritually self-harmed through depressive thoughts and ideation. “The Scars Below” is about this form of self-harm. The conjecture is put forth that inner self-harm can both invisible and destructive.


The Scars Below

You won't find the scars on the surface
unless you count the wear from negligence
instead the disfiguration is below
in the folds of my bent mind and tattered soul
the cold numbness fills my ongoing life
waiting for the intermission of anxiety
respite accepted by the desperate man
when nothingness becomes the normality

into this place and time the harm is done
utensils taken down from the shelves
set with barbs and edges that will inflict
blessed pain to replace cold indifference
feeling returns with the lash and the whip
while this would welcome upon my flesh
the pummeling that draws exquisite delight
comes from condemnation of existence

ideation damns the cold connections
depression turns off the warm outreach
in this mix the best of the worst prevails
exsanguination of the will to live
the cuts are painless to an outside world
while the sting I feel evokes fiendish glee
a thousand barbs tipped on leather's end
cracking loud in the ears of only one

the furrows left are disfigurement
injuries scored become fixed memories
until virgin surfaces are no more
cicatrix left in place of lasting hope
the scars are buried where few may see
unless I tip my hand through poetry
justification for what I've become
in my tortured mind and tattered soul.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180228.
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Shaman - Horse