I have these raw pink bruises all over my hands and knees.
"What the hell are you doing!?" He yells at me.
I look at the razor, then to my wrist, then back at him,
as I reply mindlessly "I like to see myself bleed."
Blood runs down my thigh.
All I ever want is to be high.
High above the barrier of my body.
He says I smell like strawberries.
He likes the way I taste.
And I'm just a soul in a shell of a body,
so I just close my eyes and wait to slip away.