Taxidermy

I always had a problem with self harm. 
Everyone always worried about the scars, but I barely do it anymore. 
They always worried about me accidentally hurting myself too much. 
They never mentioned the self harm no one else sees.
They never mentioned the pain I’d feel in my chest when I look at you,
but it was never followed by the gratuitous relief I’d grown accustomed to.
Your words cut more than a razor ever did.
The burn in my throat from sobbing and chugging whiskey
outweighs the pain of any scar.
My heart overdoses on its own feelings,
but there’s no relief or release.
And there’s no lucky chance of it killing me and being over,
at least not physically.
I know I certainly felt like it was killing me.
Maybe I was already dead before that.
Maybe I’m just a reanimated corpse that you brought to life,
only to remind me how pain feels.
Only to hollow out my insides all over again.
I know I’ve been a shell, a hollowed out ghost before,
but this time you’re kicking me out of my own body
I don’t know where I am.
I'm haunting myself.