Remains.

I never cut my wrists
With any sharp objects
But it’s not because
I’ve never felt pain
It’s because I’ve found
My own ways
To await the sun’s rays
And last through the rain

Rather than a razor
I grab a pen and paper
And instead of my wrist
I slice into the page
Ink bleeds out
But no blood is shed
The words are my scars
Etched in ink, not red
They’re my imprisoned friends
I can visit them anytime
But I can always leave them

I don’t carry them with me
They are so heavy,
I have to let them go
Otherwise, they’ll impede
Every step, wherever I roam
When I put down my pen
I can let go of the pain
So I have no scars
And my life remains

© Rylan Skelly, September 2018


About the Author: I have a B.A. in Honours Religious Studies from the University of Waterloo; I have a love for all major world religions – Eastern, Western, or in between; I’m genderqueer, and I’m comfortable with male, neutral, and female pronouns; I’m married to my dear wife Lynn, who is the love of my life, my best friend, and my muse; I think far too much, and often have too many ideas to know what to do with; and I am a doing being, just like you!

Mental Health Not Quite a Book Verse where were you when I needed you?

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Rylan Skelly View All →

I have a B.A. in Honours Religious Studies from the University of Waterloo; I have a love for all major world religions - Eastern, Western, or in between; I'm genderqueer, and I'm comfortable with male, neutral, and female pronouns; I'm married to my dear wife Lynn, who is the love of my life, my best friend, and my muse; and I am a doing being, just like you!

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