get so high that
you feel numb,
slit your wrists while in
the tub. warm water glides
over the edge of your
porcelain ship. blood flows
through caulk river
channels between
the tile. you will haunt the
seals between the
floor forever.
the bathroom smells like blood
and when they open the door,
you look into their eyes
as they’re crumbled on the floor.
as you open your mouth
they put a hand to your face;
exhaling reassurances to fill the empty space:
‘this will be the last time,
i just had a hard day.
some days i feel i’m at war
i swear i don’t hurt anymore.’all of a sudden
they’re a million miles away.
through the back end of binoculars
you don’t know what to say because
you know you can’t do anything
to take away the pain.
even though cuts fade to scars,
sometimes the blood stains.
i want to bleed tonight.
when nothing makes sense
i want to bleed out because
my heart’s not beating right.i want to bleed tonight because
deep wounds heal eventually; my
favorite reminder that everything ends
up alright.i bleed because i need to know
i am flesh and blood and not a ghost.
i’m still dreaming
about razor blade kisses
on my thighs
on my arms
teasing tongue
on my neck.
my first kiss
ever,
always threatening
to be my last.
the only kiss
to ever make me feel
something.
My therapist once told me that overcoming an addiction is a daily battle: I will always crave a cigarette on my lunch breaks, and I will always instinctively reach for a razor blade when life is on overdrive. Every day is a war with my mind to not give in to itself. I wonder if it’s going to be like that with you, too. I wonder if every day I will fight not to pick up the phone just so I can hear your voice.
‘If you hate your scars, why do you do it?’ he asked.
‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘the only way to get rid of all the pain in my mind is to feel it on my wrists.’
Silenticel 