You have a scar; I have many.

I cut your shoulder. Grasping the ribbed handle.

I stuck the blade of that box cutter past the collar bone, down the shoulder.

The rust smell, bled for days.

You struggled to lift your arm.

I ran my fingers over the cut. Sobbing. “I’m so sorry.” Was I?

I may have been in the moment.

Swallowing the vomit from my undeserved guilt.

I was the worst. Hurting another human.

You’ll have the scar forever. Because of me.

The only mark I ever gave you.

I was crazy, so mother fucking crazy. I was so ashamed.