Flesh bleeds in whispers.
Not from cuts or scrapes, but
Big gaping holes unseen to most.
My liquid scarlet letter
Pinned over my missing pieces
Covering nothing.
The only plug to fill the hole
Is psychosis. Weeks of mental
Breakdowns siphon the blood.
The envy I feel for them all
Drowns me in plastic
Children's pools.
Perfect gold runs over
Their fingers that lights
Their lives, while the only
Thing covering me is
The unseen blood.