reaping of pure white flesh.
innocent, ungrown.
lying through crooked teeth, grey hair.

bile rising.
utter disgust flowing through tense veins.
livid blood drips at a memory.

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

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.

⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️

I’m not suicidal,
I fear death.

I think about dying—
it's always a vivid, beautiful, sunny day.

I just want to bleed, cuts under the skin.
I just want to starve, protruding bones.
I just want to disappear, non-existent.

I’m trying to get my affairs in order,
to tend to my responsibilities,
to care for my loved ones
just in case.

I’m not suicidal,
at least, I don’t think I am.

I fear death.