My life,
a printed two-sided page,
one side sunrise,
turn it over and you see the bipolar
hidden underneath my sleeves:
self-harm.
Cuts coagulate into chaos and
blood crumbles into cookie crumbs
all over the bathroom floor,
a sugar rush surging me awake towards
my world beyond reality until
I bleed to death,
it’s sunrise again.
I close my shutters
and shudder at the sight of outside.
The heat of the sunlight feels too real.
It burns my paper skin.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
My life,
a printed two-sided page,
one side sunrise,
turn it over and you see the bipolar
hidden underneath my sleeves:
self-harm.
Cuts coagulate into chaos and
blood crumbles into cookie crumbs
all over the bathroom floor,
a sugar rush surging me awake towards
my world beyond reality until
I bleed to death,
it’s sunrise again.
I close my shutters
and shudder at the sight of outside.
The heat of the sunlight feels too real.
It burns my paper skin.
A writing activity I did where we wrote random words and had to incorporate as many of the words as possible into a poem.
Request permission to use this poem