The colour red drips like paint down the snow white canvas that is my arm;
the thin silver thread held between finger and thumb has brought a sense of calm.

These sweet little pills flush my fears away,
eradicating every content of my gut until I feel okay.
The pain burns like a ravaging fire within, yet I am numb -
for I know that once I am empty, the calm will come.

Self-hate rises like bile from the pit of my stomach and claws away at my throat -
the kind of pure loathing for which there is no antidote.
Revulsion of my reflection has claimed possession and poisoned me well;
and led to a destructive path that is the equivalent of Hell.

If you touch her, even softly, you might cause her to break;
for she is porcelain, made of hopelessness, despair and heartache.
Her soul is destroyed, her bones are heavy and her determination is crushed;
the fire in her eyes has been extinguished and even her quietest whisper has been hushed.
There are explosions of blue, green and purple that litter her legs and thighs
and crimson slits that lace her skin; all of which she makes while she sits and cries.
She’s exhausted in a way that cannot be fixed by sleep,
for the darkness that smothers her is in her veins and runs far too deep.

The darkness swoops in, becoming a shell;
it envelopes me – a feeling I know all too well.
I’m breathing in to the count of ten, but the air won’t make its way to my lungs,
instead they’re filling with the weight of water and my head is banging like drums.
My eyesight becomes indistinct, my head becomes dizzy and my body is slowly incapacitated;
I collapse with the panic wrapped around me like a blanket that keeps me captivated.