Self-harm, in itself is instant zen.
But if you take the lit cigarette,
smoked almost down to the filter.
As you planned, and you anticipate.
And then, out of the blue, you choose your target.
This time around, it was the left side of my neck.
The place I would never get a tattoo.
Now permanently scarred.
for God and the world to see.
Because I am sick of hiding it.
I am so tired of having an invisible disability.
Let the world see the scars now,
in all of their garish, graphic glory.
I lit the cigarette.
I took a few deep drags.
I slowly moved it to the side of my neck.
And with swiftness, pressed it to the tender flesh.
And the pain was worse than I had ever inflicted.
And the overwhelming rush of relief was finally complete.
There is something mysterious about the deep satisfactio,
when you can't see the wound you're making.
Until it's done.