Crimson Relief

At fifteen
I was hurt
I was abandoned
I was used.

I told no one of my
feelings.
Kept them inside,
letting crimson relief
seep through hidden
cuts.

At eighteen
I lost my angel,
I suffered at his hands,
I was made a fool.
Alcohol didn't ease the pain,
drugs didn't fill the void.

My feelings got stronger
as my pain dove deeper.
Razor blades were my
salvation.
Scars were my proof.

At thirty
I hurt her
I made her the fool
I saw pain replace
the love in her eyes.

In thick, red letters
H A T E was carved.
My permanent reminder
of a mistake
I'll never repeat.

The desire may have lessened,
the self destruction may be weaker.
But the scars will remain
as proof of who I was,
who I am, and who
I'll always be.