(TW, Self Harm)
There was blood on my hands every day I was in Primary school.
No scars of the pain of abuse, apart from my own.
Torn away skin
On the top of my fingers.
Every day pain.
Squeeze those fingers. Make it bleed
Feel that pain.
Make it sore.
Every day pain.
Pick that Scab and make it worse.
My fingers, my nails, my spots, my hair
Needed to feel something
No signs of abuse on my body, except what I did to myself
Soften that nail, break it off, and wait for the pain
How bad will it be
skin peeled back
Infections
Blood red turned to white
Septic fingers
That smell and
sting of TCP
Septic fingers
Signs of anxiety, fear and self sabotage
Septic fingers
Septic home
gnawing fingers till they bled
Punished for picking them
Hands slapped more
Pain on pain
Shamed for picking them
Pick the skin back
make it bleed
my body doesn’t matter
Pain I needed to feel
And if not fingers, toes
Toes bleeding through the night
Kicking footballs the next day.
Blood stained socks in school shoes.
My Pain body. Body full of pain.
Trying to squeeze it out , one septic finger at a time
get the pain out, will it go away?
Pain, the only feeling I was able to feel.
Pain was all I deserved to feel
Pain, in a septic home of terror.
Pain Pain go away
Come back the next day.
Another nail, another unhealed bit of skin
Sore, bright red, raw, pain.
Bite, bite, pick, pick
Cant let them heal.
Stay sore.
Self inflicted wounds
Hiding scars of terror
Of loveless neglect
Feel the pain
Never let it go away.
Turning up every day
With blood on my fingers.
James Ballantyne 
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