the blood is running onto the sheets
thick
and messy
and fast
and you still don't care
hell,
i don't even care at this point
because what's a little blood
what's a few cuts, really?
but now i can't think
now i'm getting a bit dizzy
and you're still staring at the ground
and i'm still staring at my hands
and i'm too fixated on the red flowing from my veins
to be bothered to ask for help
and when i eventually try to,
i look up
only to find that you've left the room
and i'm done
and i'm tired
and i'm spent
and i don't want to think anymore
so i collapse on the bed
eyes glazing over
unmoving
silent
alone, and sticky with rapidly drying blood
i am like this when you finally find me.