TW: Self-harm
•••
I’ve never looked as good in diamonds
as I have in red. Blood:

a string of pearls around my wrist.
Crimson lace—garter caressing thigh.

Diamonds don’t shine in sorrow
the way steel does.

ADHD forgets to feed the fish
and when she finally remembers,
it is dead at the bottom of the tank.

Well, I suppose dead is an understatement:

a mossy film embalms the body
(at least what is left of it)
its suction-cup maw putrefied
as it suckles the sickle of death.

Half of the body is there.

Half of it has disintegrated.

Imagine existing nowhere and everywhere
all at once; microscopic remnants
defile every particle of water long after
the rest of you has vanished.

Unable to feel
Unable to do the things you love
Everything is boring
Nothing is fun
Nothing brings joy
You're just existing
Waiting.
Waiting for what?
The next day?
Your next vacation?
A new job?
A relationship?
Nothing will bring true joy anyway
It all last for mere seconds, days at most
and dissipates eventually
It's hard to verbalize
what its like in this mind
in this body
To not enjoy anything
To not enjoy the things you used to love
To need the stinging feeling of a razor across your skin
to feel clarity
To not love food the same way you used to
To want to sleep at 7:30 pm every night
because what's the point in staying up any longer
when there is nothing to do, nothing to enjoy
To sleep as much as you can to escape reality
People say to love yourself, focus on you
but how can you focus on you when it isn't enjoyable to
when there is nothing to uplift yourself for
when the focus turns into getting to bed
as soon as possible?

Personality disordered,
untamed ardor explores
every river delta
and corner forked;
borderline morphs.

Formless torment disorients,
roaring torrent force
forging its course,
divorcing arboreal forest floor
into a gorge.

Clear mirror
gorgeously adorned
with floral orchard, adored;
stream looks on in horror, forlorn-
shore a formidable fortress stormed,
water waging war on
brambles, thorny swords,
and flourishing orchids scorned;
armored only by rain's discord
and fresh petrichor worn.

Rain falls in sheets for weeks,
ceiling springs a leak;
from the weeping breach
the waterline soon creeps,
stream flooding in furious
flurry of worries, deep.
Innumerable leagues beneath,
unfathomable meters and feet steep;
wrapped in the blackest and bleakest grief
wreathing my neck, I can no longer breathe.
Stifled, I can plea and scream,
but this abysmal void eats me
like a parasite, a thieving leech
suffocating, siphoning my speech,
bleeding my body weak
until all that’s left in this sea
are clothes to blow in undertow
like shredded leaves
and bones to be part of some unseen reef;
into the yawning depths of this sleep,
death swallowing every secret to keep-
I close my eyes and hold my breath for relief.