Brain doesn't work the way i want it,
and I can't figure out how to loosen my grip on those broken parts,
I've collected.
Nor let love "heal" me.

Those parts are no good when I can't build
anything worthwhile that makes this easier.
The thought to resort back to rubies dripping down my skin,
opened back up
& it lets the sickness have breathing room.

The wounds not needing sutures,
but time-
for scars to remain.
Another way demons flow in through my veins.

Slits on the surface of my body,
distress the canvas that is my skin,
I'm trying to be okay again,
trying to not let the darkness in.

But each time I destroy myself,
in attempt to reinvent the brokenness.
I show everyone I hurt,
but I can't recall what the reason was.

Used to imagine dying was so simple,
but you don't become a ghost with suicide.
There's no need to hold onto it;
let the pain go,
You don't haunt the walls,
or sob for the living to hear.

There's no cure for what ails me,
but I'm trying to remember how to survive
and have a heart that beats happily.