trich of the mind.

streaming through the window
strips running down her body
as she lies on the floor
and spies the littered strands
everywhere.

it has a name. her condition.
she is conformed to the medical excuse
that is supposed to explain
why her parents made her wear gloves in bed.

knowing 'i'm not the only one'.
it might help you, but not her.
the one who's school photo was mocked
because her attempts at
concealing her broken self-esteem
failed.
now, it is more than just

a means of calming herself down
releasing pressure, expressing excitement.
it is a disease.
she is trapped in a diagnostic nightmare.
slamming her fist against white
clinical walls, labelled. a 'trichster'.
a maniac.

she rips and tears, pain is irrelevant
forget the blades and edges sharp
she can destroy herself just fine
without them.

hand blindly stumbles
she stares, unaware
that she keeps tugging
at the roots of her mind

she can't stop
it is a need
she is in control this way
pull, and she is serene
call it what you will
as she mutilates her appearance
it is not a crime
just an anaesthetic
or, the way i see it
a trich of the troubled mind.