grief hums in my bones

folded under silent screams

pain stitched in my skin

i love you like a soft rainy day—
because you're here,
because you stay

i carry you like an old song,
i hum without meaning to—
not born of blood,
but stitched into me, just the same

i want you to be okay,
i want endless joyous memories—
i just want to laugh with you again
on some small, ordinary day

tongue tasting iron prayers.

maroon patches, like cowhide on cotton.

smearing grief, across closed lips.

a blue coal sky, littered with stars.

red blooming beneath skin.

like a childhood teddy, clutched too hard.

sweetness dripping from the chin.

in the end, im wailing in water.

i drink and feast on pretty things.

sun-kissed cheeks,
tangled wild hair,
pouncing, dashing
through tall, sticky grass

up rough, crumbling trees,
down ice-cold creeks,
ankles tickled by wriggling eels—
laughter loud, free, aimed at the sky

rolling down bumpy hills,
soft grass clinging to clothes,
a taste of wild fruit—
sweetness dripping from the chin

pure joy, carelessness,
freedom—
soul light as a breeze,
never a dull moment

i miss being a wild child

my old bandage
soft, frayed edges,
threadbare, worn thin
by restless hands, restless nights,

maroon patches
like cowhide on cotton,
each stain a quiet record
of battles no one saw

years of ache
woven into its threads,
dried blood stiff
like a childhood teddy
clutched too hard,

and still –
i rinse it gently,
silent and thinking,
afraid the water
will wash away
what held me together

breathing closed
heart tight, trembling
tears turned the world to glass,
edges sharp, light bent,
everything slipping

tearing through the dark,
sharp screams cutting through,
hands clawing for the blade,
no pause, no thought,
just ache, just hunger

a flash —
the cuts came swift,
red blooming beneath skin,
in smooth, soft lines,
then the fall,
the flow and the drip

fingers wet with sorrow,
tongue tasting iron prayers,
smearing grief
across closed lips,
quiet, feral

wrap the arm,
but still it seeps,
slow,
steady,
seeping, seeping,
until the breaking,
until the flood,

and i disappear beneath it.

external bleeding

i wish i was dead
lying cold in my bed
silent, empty, alone
haunted by thoughts unknown

i need the pills, the herbs
to quiet the endless words
numb my body
lost in the ache that never curves

i long to sink down
where darkness wraps me 'round
i want to feel broken
my voice left unspoken

i want to be better
but i never let her
stuck in this skin
clawing for strength within
numb, i see—
no drive to be free

im livid, writhing with rage
my head is jumbled and aching
no pills, no sleep—i am devoured

because i give and give and give
and they take and rip and shred

rip the flesh, rip the bone
take the arteries
from my heart
steal my blood, flee away

im drowning, im burning
my head is slipping, fracturing
hands clawing at my throat

water like fire takes my air
i can’t breathe, i can’t rest
and my lungs burn
before they’re taken too

my limbs contort, twist, then crack
i try to carve my way out
but im buried deep
tendrils coiled, unbreaking

raging, writhing, war in my head
i feel the lumps press against my skull
i crave to dig them out
my hands grip my hair
nails sinking in

but i fail
sinking deeper, heavy limbs
lungs rupture, body thrashes
the current pulls, the dark consumes
in the end
im wailing in water

i wish i was pretty,
like the tip of a fang,
like a drop of blood,
like a beautifully adorned room,
like the smell of an old book,
like the patter of rain

i like pretty things—
like the eye of a storm,
like lightning followed by thunder,
like the moon as it wanes,
as if darkness were eating it

the night likes pretty things too,
a blue coal sky, littered with stars.
they eat away at pretty things,
covering them in a devouring shadow,
making you lost in its eye

i am the night, the shadow,
i drink and feast on pretty things,
so i eat you too.

my blue veins pulse, life
throbbing, aching, red spilling
i crave, the cutting

i miss bleeding
i miss the thin red lines
i miss the sting under water
i miss the comfort the blade brought
i miss the hurt
i miss the blood
i miss…
feeling justified

the pain i went through and the pain im in now means nothing
because i dont have any more red lines
just white ones
even when they were red
they werent deep enough
werent good enough
so im not worth it
i dont need that much help
im lazy
i need to try harder
other people have it worse
other peoples lines are worse
*******

you make me miss the blood
everything that hurts makes me
miss the thin red lines
fifty at once
soothing cat scratches
little drops of blood
to feel better

but

i dont need help
i dont deserve help
is that what you all think?
that i dont try?
i try so hard
but its still not good enough
the days i need help
im not good enough
i need to be independent
im not allowed to ask for help
i hate you
i hate everyone
i hate everything

all i want is my red lines back
they may have not been good enough for you
but they were for me
so *******
no one cares

ill get my blade
ill cut once
and feel the sting
its not so bad
so ill do it again
and again
and again
and thirty more times
and ill feel that good sting
see the pretty blood

and ill feel better
ill be better
ill be worth the help