what scared me the most
is that those few moments before i could tell for sure
when i couldn't tell if the problem was inability to find
a pulse or a vein-
the weak, venomous veins-
were the only few moments that were still quiet
because nothing has seemed to stop since then
the screaming hasn't stopped since then
the screaming hasn't stopped since i started it

it could've been her

all my friends are dead
to me
to the world

whatever, they're all dead in someones eyes

i'll **** myself in the eyes of the world
i'll **** myself in my own eyes

but i could never end my life in the eyes of my friends

stability only lasts so long
when at any moment i could break
                                                     myself into pieces

presently, gently wading,
floating on the surface

presently
waiting

dragged beneath myself
devoured by the beast
pulling me

down
          down
                    down

to a place inside myself that i have not yet discovered
a place even i dont recognize

is it self harm if you dont do it on purpose?
am i hurting myself if i want it to stop?

im a depressed maniac
BANGING!
BANGING!!
BANGING!!!
on the door to my cranial corridor

im a manic depressive
slipping
              slipping
                  ­          slipping
into my grave

a grave that has been dug
for me
and by me

i **** myself on the inside
only to awake in the hell i swore i just escaped

i pull out a cigarette in the name of self destruction
making my way over concrete carpets
in search for something to light up my veins

looks of disdainful condescension are fired through me
as i dig in my pockets for my white bic lighter
that i so desperately need
to start my day of agreeable self destruction

i reach my man and pull out a *** of coloured paper
i throw it away on nothing
i melt it down
i spike my vein
and i dissolve
i am falling
into the world around me

this amazing, wonderful junk

the problem                             the problem                            the problem
with people today                   with people today                  with people today
is                                               is                                              is

when we look at art                when we read a book            when we see a miser
we see the paint                       we see the words                    we see the shell

not the painter                         not the writer                         not the resident