This white blank page reminds me of
The stains that you left on my skin
The blood you poured
Like soup from a can
Thick, and willing

There are lines on this page
Similar to the ones
On my thighs

The ones on the paper
Are inked blue
My thighs are inked
With a red that seeps from within
Seeps past my bones
Past my skin
Past my final layer
Of protection

Protecting me from you
Or protecting me
From myself?
After all most wounds
Are self inflicted

This paper is straight
With no curved lines
I like how simple it is
In comparison to my futile body
My body,
With complex arteries and pipes
That twist and turn
Amongst my bones and organs

The day I am covered
With as many lines
As an exercise book
Is the day I will be willing to learn
I will have enough lines
To write on
Enough room to learn
The cavities of my brain will be free

Thank you for giving me
This opportunity
This thought process
From just a single sheet
Of paper.

Without you
I would be

Nothing

All these greens are bleeding together,
lending me false promise of forever...
full of yesterday and long ago memories
I wish to forget simply toss in the sea,
but I'm emerged beneath the deep
and pain chooses anything but sleep.
This hurt I'd prefer would not return,
If tables didn't round and bridges burn.
Ashes and smoke come back around
Through folds in time, silent sound.
If someday would finally just go away...
If life I could live only for this day,
but I'm that fool, that fool who loves...
I'll inflict wounds you've never thought of,
and when you see me pity you'll find
for the poor cold heart you left behind.