i want to be the reason there is light inside your eyes again. the reason you worship the sunrise, instead of clinging red knuckled to the end of each dying day.

thorns lay down in my arachnoid
membrane, splintering my scalp at the mere
memory of anxiety-
splicing and slicing into my brain
drawing blood, swirling pools
killing me slowly
not all at once,
not all too quickly,
but miserably constant
in a stream that never empties
poisonous venom.

i've digested crimson tiles off your bathroom floor just to get a reaction;
an influence for the perception of acceptance.
does it at least hinder or unsettle you, the red that runs down my face?
lower than low; close to invoke
even when the color’s close to my chest,
it ceased to disturb.
i've only existed behind someones else's eyes for so long  
i need to shut my own lids next to you till I’m out of a blur.
your sphere of smeared wallpapers close in on you,
i claim what you walked out of —
a circle that rounds your comfort.
you’re boiling in a shade that reflects what I’ve stained myself with.
the room is in fragments; a gore and scene of demolishment
reminds you of a cancer burnt unseen.
hands of guilt washed with mournful streams of survival
you find drops of me left in the sink
i’m a mere nosebleed,
you recollect me off your floor thrown
into the blackness of the back of your head,
that you rest and rest, as you lie down,
until you’ve forgotten all about me