(Kayla don't read this)
Tw: graphic depictions of self harm
I pry open the gaping wound,
Stretching the corners,
Trying to reach a new depth, a new low,
While chasing a new high.
Crimson leaks onto the ground,
Leaving trails down my thigh,
There's a puddle on the floor.
I admire my work,
Pinching it together,
Trying to soak up the blood with toilet paper,
Then picking the pieces out,
I feel nauseous,
Alive,
Gratified.
I did it, I finally did it,
Bubbles of fat don't just peak out from under,
But they protrude,
I want to laugh.
Pathetic.
How devastating the comparison,
Of my goals to my peers.
I breathe in,
Salty metallic and heavy,
My favorite smell.
I know there is no saving me.