I like it when it hurts,
a little bit-
I like to feel some self-inflicted,
irrational
pain-
I am
masochistic
turning the knife toward myself
I am
biting down on
roses
I am
picking apart everything you say
until your words are
shards of glass that I
dance on
and then
and then
I’ll
I will come to you
when I start to cry
and ask you to pour
iodine on my
wounds
so I can kick you in the face
because you missed my birthday.