You tend to say words
that only shatter my heart
to tiny pieces.

Crushing gravity;
Knowing that I crave human
intimate moments.

Aching emotions,
the violin's hum is sharp,
piercing my numb soul.

Words dripping in desire
like the oozing thickness of honey;
it's too sticky and hard for me to swallow.

I reach a hand up
hoping it is your face that
my fingers rest on.

All of our brains
are sick with worry and fear.
Mental illness *****.

My back is barely a canvas
as my blood drips between my shoulder blades
creating a destructive masterpiece
from allowing the cuts to be visually stimulating
rather than attempting to treat them
with the love and respect
that they deserve.