Dripping weekend wrist marks
Dance in the happy rain
Booming base and bleeding
Let it rush down your face
Feel it trickle down your tights
It’ll all be over now.

I'm in this place a prison
of homely comforts,
that
cut upon the wrists
                           of  
          
                             my sanity.

I used to see the walls as collages
of happier times.
Now I just put lines of
                   I I I I I I the seventh
is my reality that I'll just start
                                 a new one.

They look like I, I need, I want
but never getting past the I...

As I know I'm in here for the sentence
             of security and life.

                          But,

why do I have to do it in solitary confinement,



I'm                   so                         lonely...

Wrists
Childish wrists
Soft and white
Aside from a few lines

Wrists
Scarred and rough
Raised along different points of the wrist
Hundreds of lines on this one
Old lines

Wrists
Bruises from a tight grip
Soft little lines
Not noticeable to anyone
but the wrist

Wrists
Teary wrists
Cried into often
Soft and pale

Wrists
Everywhere
On everyone
Yet no one notices
The little signs

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Sugar is sweet,
And so are you.
But the Roses have wilted,
And the violets are dead.
The sugar bowl's empty,
And my wrists are stained red.

I cuff our wrists together
and tell myself
you're deciding to stay

Everything
That comes out my pen
My brain
And my wrists
Unsatisfying
Just simply
Not enough
It hard
To feel proud
When its nothing
But trash

I want to drown
I want to breathe the water in
And never breathe out again
I want the salt water to burn the fresh cuts in my wrists
I want the dark to cradle me as I float into never ending sleep
I want to drift off
with no sign of life
I want to drown