when i was five, i saw a fire bathed in countless shades of red and
the inferno terrified me.
elevens years later, the bathtub turns crimson red and i'm not scared at all, i'm throwing my hands in the air,
screaming, "look, ma. no hands, ma. no ******* turning back now."
skipping along the sidewalk at six years old avoiding the cracks
so as not to crack my mother's back,
ten years later and the only cracks i'm worried about
are snaking their way up necks of liquor bottles
and through my facade and i don't know
how much longer i can keep lying,
i'm not doing any ******* better.
measuring my growth at age seven with ticks of pen on the wall
as my father ruffles my hair and tells me i'm growing up.
nine years later the only measurements i'm paying attention to
are how many liters of blood is too many to come back from
(around 3)
and how many centimeters deep i have to cut, how many ticks i need to make in order to make sure i finally hit six feet.
waking up early Christmas morning at eight years old
but i'm not looking for presents under the tree anymore,
i'm just staring at glinting knives and imagining sticking
my head in the fireplace just like Santa.
waking up eight years later
and telling Santa to go **** himself because the only thing on my list
was to not wake up at all.
coming home with skinned knees and bruised elbows at age nine,
but seven years later
i stopped coming home at all because my mother
kept remarking on the bruises and broken bones i had
from life kicking me down
and not giving me enough time to get up between blows.
attending my grandmother's funeral at age ten, six years later and my mother is drinking in an attempt to forget mine was the previous day.