It gets easier every day
to drag the stainless steel
across my forearm.

          And I get closer every day
        to slicing it across my veins
            and paddle in puddles of putrid red;
         but I'm not supposed to feel what I feel
       at every pretty pink sunrise
       and freckled night skies.

I trudge through days
wishing for night to come
only to wake up to another one;
a million more nights
of having dreams of a world beyond
this fuckery.