i wanted to write about
how my fingernails take off my skin at night
or how i leave bruises in places i hate

i still want to scream about how i don't use knives, anymore
and tell you all the lies that let me get away with my own
self destruction

all these scars that have explanations
i'm nearly exploding
and the words will surely splatter on the wall



but i don't want you to mistake a poem
for an instruction manual