I hurt myself more than what you think.
I bite my tongue and cheek and lips in anger.
I chew the skin from around my fingers.

Its passive aggression

Its me trying to survive

its just something small

cover up this huge gaping hole.

Its Obsession
its compulsion

and when I was on acid the truth came out.
I tasted the blood and like a child

I spoke

I hurt myself all the time you know?
I giggled
I dont know why, I wish I could stop.
(embarrassed)
I bite the tip of my tongue, its always swollen.
I chew my tongue like gum I cant stop.

Looking to you my sweet husband as if you were my father
Please love the way I was never loved by any one else.
I have hidden so much from the world in hopes of survival
and its killing me

[no non no non

There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.

It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.