This is How He Describes "Emo", Bitches

Why do you do it, I say.

Sometimes, he says,
I am opening vents in my skin
Skin too swollen
With the pressure of agony
With the inner points of nails and knives
Skin that needs release
Exposure and purgation
Digging out the offending intangibles
Scraping them off,
Away

Sometimes, he says,
I cannot do
Cannot be
Cannot
Cannot
But feeling that pain, I can handle.
Cleaning with alcohol, I can do.
It is easier
To transfer the pain to my body
Where I am strong,
Where I can deal with pain,
No problem.

Sometimes, he says,
I need to validate my heart
Visible signs of an invisible hurt
That I know is truth
That I cannot say with words
Because words are insufficient
And impermanent
And I need to draw it
In red lines
That say a thousand words
Eloquently malingering
I need to say my hurt.

Sometimes, he says,
I deserve it.

He stops, and I let it fall like snow.

But all of these reasons only exist
In that single moment, he says.
All of the other moments are spent
Trying to cover up the shame
Feeling stupid and weak
Hiding under turtlenecks and jeans
Terrified that someone will see
Will question
Will suspect

That I am not strong enough to cope
That there is something wrong
That they will want to help
That they will feel I need help
That they will pass judgment
That I will be lacking
That I will see pity in their eyes
When they look at me.

And I know it is wrong, he says.
I know I shouldn't do it
I know it is the wrong choice,
The wrong way,
The wrong thing to do.
I know it better after I do it.

But in that moment
In every one of the that moments:
It is the only thing.
I do not know anything else.
It is what I do.
It is how I survive.