Suicide Scars By Brenton Booth

“Look at those marks on that girls

arms! I counted seven. She has tried 

to kill herself ‘seven times’ and she is

still just a teenager! There are people 

out there with bad health that would 

give anything to have her life. I have 

no respect for her. She is a complete

waste of life. A total loser!” he said. 

“Do you think I am a loser?” I said. 

“Of course not.” “Well, when I was 

her age the only difference between 

me and her was courage. I never could 

get the strength to break through my 

skin and veins, just sat for hours on 

more than seven occasions with a sharp 

knife pressed tight against my forearm. 

Knowing it was the only way,” I said. 

He went silent. What could he say? 

He was one of the lucky ones, that didn’t 

understand how bad things could actually 

get. 

Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry of his has appeared in New York Quarterly, North Dakota Quarterly, Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, Naugatuck River Review, Heavy Feather Review and Nerve Cowboy. He has two full length collections available from Epic Rites Press. brentonbooth.weebly.com