I've been to the emergency room
three times
not because the bones in
my arms are broken but because
the locks that are supposed
to keep out the shadows in my head
have been smashed
to bitter pieces
I've been to the emergency room
three times
the first time I couldn't stop
crying and tears
choked me to death with the
taste of salt
like blood
and I went home that night
and sliced my wrists open
with the bitter irony that my
parents have told me countless
times that they will be the ones
always there
and they are there
it is their hands guiding silver
to make red
I remember when they used to
brush my teeth for me
and now it is my fathers rough hands
driving me to shove a toothbrush
down my throat
I've been to the emergency room
three times
and on the second time I didn't
shed a single tear
not even when my father said
he didn't think
I was trying hard enough
and I certainly didn't cry when
they said they were doing the best they could
I didn't cry over the fact that I didn't go home
for two months
maybe because home has never
been something I long for when I'm away
and on the third time I went to the emergency room
the only time tears threatened
their grasp on my throat was when
a doctor told me this sickness
has been eating away at my mind since I was in third grade
it has been picking the locks in my head
and smashing the windows with rocks
sending shards shattering to the ground
reflecting back hatred and an inability to appreciate sunny mornings and good cups of coffee and warm pools in the summer and eating an entire meal,
eating three meals a day without feeling shame roiling in my stomach
this chemical soaked monster
has been decaying my sanity
like acid against metal
leaving nothing but a trail of
emptiness behind