everywhere I look
there's a pale face staring back at me
maybe one
maybe hundreds
and they all have your eyes
but this white-walled room is empty
and so are my hands
and I'm not bleeding.
Am I screaming?
sometimes it's today
but sometimes it's yesterday
when you were still holding me
and my lapse in memory
was only temporary.
my fingers still crawl up your back
when you're not here
but it comforts me to know that
my mind can replicate the
dips and bumps of your spine.
Is it crazy?
at night when my mind
spins and spins and spins and spins and spins
I think I want you to hurt me.
I think I want to feel crazy.