There has always been a lot of different ways to destroy yourself - there's the devotion to something that is not you, the cutting a piece off yourself and putting it in another person; that person becomes positive one and you are left with a gaping hole that misses itself, misses what is used to be.
And that hole will never fully fill itself again, you see, no matter how much you stuff it with wool and dirt. There will always be this swallowing-everything-you-see-and-then-spitting-it-out hole. And then you think, what if I completely give myself to others? And then there's chunks of yourself on the floor and you're as much human as your kiddy teddy bear that's been lying in the mud your entire life. And then there's a dead man at your feet.
There's the protective layer - the fake, something that is not you, the stolen artwork that you placed on yourself because you're too ashamed, too scared, to fill the gallery with something that is truly yours. Something that is truly you. You're walking around with a camera in your hand that captures everything at a hands-reach. And then you pretend its your own until you fool yourself enough to finally grab your needles and thread and sew your own initials on the tag.
You can stab yourself well enough that they won't recognize you anymore. Take every sharp thing you see, and then jam it straight into where it hurts. But it hurts everywhere, so you keep stabbing, until people come up to you and feel sorry for you. ‘what happened’ they ask. You never know what to answer. ‘What happens next?’ You're afraid now, you're not yourself. I’m sorry, maybe if I rearrange your mirror you will see yourself again, but my knuckles will have to heal first.
There’s still blood on them.