To Tell the Truth

Everyone has that moment when they're staring at a mistake and time just seems to wrap around them, swallow them in a weightlessness that is tantamount to death.
Mine came in the form of blood soaked bathroom rug and a hastily written note.
The tile floor become a womb,a cold memory to carry me from this life.
The next morning I woke up twice.
The first I ate breakfast, the second, I ate my pride.
I needed help.
I need help.
In place of a androgynous mass with a PhD and a ******* for money, I write lines.
Letter after letter I take this new cuneiform and pull the lines from the pages and stitch the holes in my heart shut.
Poem after poem I draw closer the redemption.
Everyone has that thing, that makes time start living again.