an open wound
ankle bone to coffee
table, elbow scraped
against the concrete.
the knife, blade first,
the skin of your legs
the skin of your wrists
your ribs. curled like
lace, drawn on like
sketchpad. the ache
the ache the ache
the scars of never
letting go and the
gnawing, raw
pain of the open
wound you won't
stop picking, you
won't stop scratching
the ache of it the
ache can't forget
can't distract
doesn't stop doesn't
stop doesn't
stop

and the words
whispered over and
over again, the scream
the cry the bang the
whimper

i'm sorry.