Blood & Guts.

My high threshold for emotional pain became like anesthesia,
numbing me from the inside out as the contents of my soul had somehow developed amnesia.
I was filled with such ravenous rage that it tore my skin from my bone, like acid rain.
My heart was like a furnace overheating, desperate to silence my internal suffering that had become so scathing.
Wanting to be left alone to wallow in my maladaptive misery,
I let the ink stain my skin, just once,
in the hope that it would set me free from my artificial reality.
I was enslaved by my anger, as hostility reigned supreme inside of me, it was like cancer.
My tears were the permanent tattoos that no one could know,
my vulnerability made me feel weaker with each perceived blow to my ego.
Naive and perhaps a product of my environment
as I wrote blood and guts on my arm, in Japanese, as my eternal punishment.
It acts as a reminder now, a vigil of sorts to the hardened persona that is no more.
In his place is the lost and afraid little boy that raced towards a future that never materialized;
he cowers in fear now his only shield was revealed to be comprised of lies.
My tattoo, though macabre, is a testament to my faith in myself to always be held accountable.
It was unjust and in poor taste for me to play the victim for so long,
unwilling to accept that my own behaviour was wrong.
I now see the error that corroded me and have vowed to strive for change.
Through staring at my tattoo, I have gained the insight
and clarity that are helping me take the reins, an action that was long overdue.
Although I am still fallible, as humans are, I will not allow my demons to leave scars on my loved ones' hearts.