When I'm left to myself
My wrists tingle
And I vividly see what it would like like
To scratch and scratch,
until blood flowed like a river
To pry my nails from my body,
with a squelching sound
To pull my teeth with pliers,
feeling the roots' empty place
To stab pencils into my thighs,
and leave them in the contracting muscles
To pour acid down my back,
and feel it burning and bubbling and the tissues peeling off
To scoop out my eyes,
and finally be blind to the world,
with crimson tears running down my face