you approach me
an indescribable gaze.
your eyes are not on me
they are focused somewhere else.
one of your fists clenched,
the other holds a blade.
you slowly lift the blade
the edge upon your forearm.
you move the blade,
creating a thin line.
the line quickly overflows with blood,
i stare dumbfounded.
why are you doing this?
you're hurting yourself!
you press the blade harder
you cut deeper.
why are you doing this?
there is so much blood
you are sti looking at your arm.
your cut up, bleeding arm.
my anger flares,
my body shakes.
why are you doing this?
"i  dont  know,"  i whispered.

How do you know when you've gone mad?
Is it when you start to question it?

Does it creep up on your midnight pillow
ever so slightly
and drain your life like you use to gulp your morning coffee?
All while whispering in a form that could only be heard by wind chimes
expecting nothing less than what you've already lost.

Infectious with madness
A deal with the devil
A meeting of chance
A sound that should have been made
but on that very note it would all decay
amidst the stars that shine near the harboring bay.
No expression to convey.
If only there were another way
But like time, your eagerness whittles away
When theres nothing to say, no rock left unturned
you yearn
you yearn
Unlike others yours comes with disgust.
And by you I mean Me.