somewhere along the lines my favorite colors got blurred.
it was forever blue until it was silver
silver didn't last long I liked porcelain more
that one didn't last long either I learned to love red.
red always went away I liked white to though.
but only the kind of silver you can write with on the porcelain.
the silver that turns the porcelain red and cuts it.
the silver that tears you apart
leaves you with little white scars
so I guess I like white to now?
wow that red didn't last long but it sure pains me to see it go.
the silver is pretty though I still like it but
it  still looks even prettier pressed on the porcelain skin of my arm or thigh in the winter time
so I guess I still like porcelain to?
but then the skin rips under the silver
it turns red and I remember how much I liked red.
a it fades to white I think about my colors and why I like them.
from blue to silver to skin color to red to white.

bathing in your own blood
skin peeling off your own hands

my love takes them
my love heals them
my love presses the wounds
my love
my love is the one who holds the knife

help me die,
sake of my LOVE!!!

CARVE THIS CIRCLE
CARVE THIS CIRCLE IN MY WRIST

CALL YOUR SPIRIT TO MINE
FLOW IN MY VEINS

TO BE YOURS,
YOURS TRULY!

…

carvings in skin last forever
carrying your affection
in my arms
my thighs
my wrists

Slice.
I get mad,
Slice.
I get frustrated,
Slice.
I get stressed,
Slice.
I get sad,
Slice.

All I do is slice.
all I can do is slice.
all I know is to slice.
all I want to do is slice.
all I love is to
Slice.

once you dig the razor in too deep
you know youve crossed a line
in more ways than one

physically;
youve cut deeper than
you ever have before

and then
mentally;
you cannot go back now

the red bead bracelet
is a bracelet i made myself,
with the razors of my pencil sharpeners,
the beads of blood covering my wrist,
the red blood being the sole reason
i dont show my wrists without being covered
by some sort of sweater or jacket
because if i don't
i get made fun of or questioned
i am asked, why?
why did i pierce my clean, ****** wrists
with driving razors through my skin
the answer is because
i wish i weren't here.
because i don't feel
loved enough to not do it
i am ill, yes, I know that by now,
my therapy sessions prove it
the calls up to the office prove it
me, a kid on suicide watch in my own home
prove it all.
i can hardly keep my door shut
without getting yelled at by my parents
i know i am ill
but i am not
the deranged monster i am made out to be
that is what the red bead bracelet is for.