(I was bored I
couldn't feel things I
started to cut myself last night)

Red razor blade streaks criss-cross
on the terrain of my wrist;
like the grooves in my skin,
magnified and coloured.

Drops of blood formed
in the paper-thin slits
not like geysers, or rivers,
but mountains of bright crimson.

(The sight is interesting the
pain is exhilarating the
fear is mind-numbing)

This morning,
the bleeding lips
sealed themselves.

(And tonight, I will do it again.)