The metal bar hits my face
but it doesn't hurt, not really
And by morning the marks will fade
and I'll be untouched once again.

It's madness of a sort
I don't like being hit
It's a defense against the Unknown
against depression and despair
and against love.

Against truth and reality
and life
stands a metal bar
a pair of scissors, a sharpened comb

I hate myself when I don't feel
It's a weakness In which I find strength
But I know it's a lie

If the marks should linger
inventive stories will explain them
But I'm resilient
and heal quickly

The metal bar hits again
Again, again, and again
In the mirror my eyes are blank
and I hate them

The ordeal is over
I'm shaking, shaking
then stoic and cold

I hide the metal
and return to life
or what's left of it.