sick again,
heart beating too fast and stomach clenching too tight.
it's staring at me
the last little line, little reminder, little pain,
intersecting my veins with it's pale puckered lips.
619 days since it appeared,
since i dug the little trench in my too-white skin, soft skin.
i have hated every day that it has stayed there, staring up at me, taunting me to give it more friends.
and i know that i'm sick, again, always,
but i have some self control, some semblance of sanity that hasn't left me like everyone else did.
and it's okay, my rotting, lips blue like my veins through my skin, the rivers that lead me home.
it's staring with expectant eyes, daring
me to be weak and to be strong.
it's the devil and the angel all in one,
so i pull on a sweater and i pretend it's not too hot next to the fire in the winter, under the sun in the summer, and i drown the eyes of my scar(s) and fill the rivers with another drink.
sick again,