Every thing and Nothing

My hands

And the hands which are supposed to hurt you, hurt me, my hands that should beat into you, beat into me, because pain is the only thing I control, I know no love for myself. A beating from the hands on the bruised body, stay you say, don't hurt yourself you cry, that seems so easy to say, but imagine sitting there, tears running down your faces, your naked body over the shower seat, pushing into your ribs as the water beats down on your aching back, fingers down your throat and your vision blurs, your fingers go further, further, further, blood and vomit explodes. You can see your blood stained hands even through your blurred vision. But even in the days after, the pain in your back and ribs will be a throbbing reminder of your weakness, of the pain that you suffered at your own hands.