perscripted after
mother found me
bleeding from
my wrist
more than a
week ago going
"strong" she has
my blades but it's hard
to take the harshest weapon
when it's your head
and it's sharpened in the night

I’m scared of touching you.
Of putting my lips on yours,
And tasting the truth.
I’m scared of holding your hand,
And that you’ll never let go.
I’m scared of getting too close,
And not being able to back out.
I’m scared of letting you love me,
And that maybe I’ll love you back.
I’m glad you trust me,
But please stop telling secrets.
Don’t whisper in my ear,
Don’t sing my favorite songs.
I’m trying to make you stop,
Stop the spread your disease.
Disease people call love,
Love I’ll never know.
Knowing how to love is an art,
Art no Mozart could draw.
Draw me closer and you’ll see,
See my bad sides and my truth.
Truth you just can’t bear,
Bear to hear from me.
Me, myself and I,
I think that’s all I have.
Have been like that for ever,
Ever and ever I’d like to keep.
Keep me close but far away,
Away from love, from it all.
All that comes with hiving hugs,
Hugs that hold no meaning.
Means that I don’t want you
You to want me back.
Back is where I want to go,
Go where I felt safe.
Safe and sound sounds good to me,
Me, myself and I.
I like the sound of that.
That’s the way I want it.
That’s how I belong.
Please don’t hold my hand,
Please don’t hold my heart.
I like you how you are,
You like me how I am.
Let’s not change that right now.
I like where I belong.
I’m scared of changing the alphabet,
Putting U right next to I.
It would mess up absolutely everything.
Me, Myself, and I.
I like the sound of that.

That instinct
You have
When you're this depressed
And
Every time
You're in the
Stainless Steel kitchen
And your mom
Is stirring soup at the stove,
And a dribble of
Tomato basil
Slobbers down the side
Of the black pan.

And there's still
A knife out
From when
Tomato intestines
Sprawled across a cutting board,
Which is now in the
Soap-water sink.

You feel it,
In that second.
Instinct.
Need, really.
To take it
And slice open your wrists,
Or maybe just one,
If you're having a good day.

You seriously consider it.
It isn't just a thought.
It can
Scare you, really.

You want-
And one day, might need-
To pick up that knife
And do bad things.
Things that good girls
Wouldn't dream of.

But you don't do it,
And you won't do it,
Because your mom is right there
Stirring soup
And ignoring tomato drool.

And it's such short notice,
You haven't written your note yet.