Drawing the Line

Do you know where I draw the line?
Right here.

A work of art

Wielding the blade as a brush
Filling the flesh canvas
With finely drawn crimson strokes
Habitual purging anger, confusion, hate
Through pain.

A blade
lacerates
my veins,

That burning pain I greet

I cant remember
A time
When this anger
Just simply didn’t exist

That unblemished perfection of the child I seemed to be
Now seems to be a myth

If that girl
The one who grew up to be me

My only connection with her

But if she looked
Into a magic orb
And asked what the future was to hold

Would she have seen 
The darkness
The destruction
The violence
Of humanity

Would she have been given the proper future
Or a romanticised one
That would keep on living

Would she have seen the scars?