something i
love
to do is
quickly, roughly, no thoughts, no hesitation
slice.
pinch, it's worthy of nothing but a blink.
I should go deeper, harder,
i want to part deep like
a canyon
easy
like a valley
i want a river, a flood.
i want to be emptied.
I want muscles to shift beneath my hands
tendons to scream
I want to be pale, and nothing
and never call anyone. I want
to deal with it alone.
maybe you won't think I'm so ******* sensitive
such a ****** *****, yeah?
I'll do it. i can. I'm going to. I'm ******* going to.
if i just ******' **** myself right.
no matter what i do
how i feel
how I've grown
how i think
who i love
who loves me
I'm going to die
alone.
I've texted you.
i keep texting you.
said i needed help.
you don't love me. you
you're not in love with me
you know it.
you know it. i know it.
I'm not worthy of that ****. not from you.
please. just ******* leave, i know you want to.
you're dying to, aren't you? go.
****.
you wouldn't know.
hell, but you can read me, can't you
but you wouldn't know I was thinking this
no one does.
I've only been screaming about it
since i ******* could.
didn't you know?
did anyone really know?
i should start on those ******* letters again.
i have therapy tomorrow.
I'll say I'm better.
so so
so much better.
I'll eat more, i swear. see
getting better. no need to continue.
I'll ******* **** you.
after I slice,
i let it trail down
beautiful candle wax
very liquid-like candle wax, i
i like the burn of that, we can compare shades.
it'll curve with my thigh, it'll slide
under, and stick to whatever I've piled there.
i love how it looks when i
peel.
the object away from my skin
it sticks, so easily, it hates to part
it'll leave you with a sweet red kiss memory.
we'll talk about my leg this time
legs, stomach, chest, between my legs
those are easiest to hide.
no one knows. no one knows.
it collects before it drips
building up
the snowball effect.
do you remember when you
were a child
looking out of a car window.
dark stormy clouds
sprawled across the sun,
seducing it,
stealing the light.
storm's coming, young traveler.
wind picks up,
trees dance
breaths hitch
the rain trickles,
pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat
windshield wipers wave
and to prevent the boredom, or
**** it
block out their arguing
or keep your mind from the thoughts
of your bones breaking
(intrusive thoughts)
or to ignore the bridge below you
or maybe it's something you
actually enjoyed doing
or
whatever
the ****
you were trying to do,
you'd watch the droplets race.
OH!
which one makes it to the bottom?
first one there wins!
pick a favorite.
but then they end up meeting in the middle
so they both trail to the bottom?
and you watch, a proud parent moment,
do it over and over again,
let's see how we really win.
it's like that, except for
i know how to make them all win. Every time.
all three hundred of them
they're all my favorites.
it's a game, to meet in the middle
see
what you do is you just give it a little boost
pinch and turn the skin
slice it a little more
just above, but the above ones have to be deeper so
it comes out faster
and the ones below have to be quick.
maybe i would always win if i
always went deeper.
i'd never have to wait
it would come out easily.
do it
do it
do it
just give it a little extra boost is all.
oh? you thought i'd get better? why?
Sydney came into my life?
can't fix someone like me.
i enjoy being broken a little too much.
music plays,
something with a low bass,
something on Sydney's playlist, maybe
I'll change it.
i don't want to think of her.
i don't want her to know.
i like cutting, i like what it does.
but god i hate how it makes her feel.
she kissed my cuts when we met. my arm.
my sleeve had been rolled up, i think i did that without thinking.
she grabbed me.
touched me.
laying in my lap, turned her head, and
pressed her lips against my
tainted skin.
i should carve that part out.
she shouldn't be a part of me.
i might **** myself tonight. I
I might ignore her
forever.
i can't face her now.
god, someone, tell her.
if i don't answer her,
I'm back where I belong
I belong with the other crazies.
god I'm ******' filthy, aren't i?
look at all the time I've wasted.
When I'm killed that'll seal the deal
And I'll be free from these chains
I sing softly, imagine recording the
twitching of my leg.
a little funny.
weak.
i know it's not from pain.
or is it?
or are we impatient?
eager as ever, aren't we, J?
Little *****.
i should slit my wrists.
i'd rather the pills right now.
pills make me drowsy. just
keep taking more, yeah?
the cuts on my legs are foreplay.
slip your hands down my underwear, Syd,
I'll show you.
I cry, the ugly face cry
and then it stops
where are the streams?
I'm nothing but expressions
and ears that ring.
i let it collect on Justin's sweatpants.
i like that.
when i give it to him
if i do
it will be soaked with my blood.
is it his fault that I'm like this?
oh, he hated it so much,
didn't he?
drove him up the *******' wall
hated when i didn't eat
hated when i cried
hated hated hated
hated when I defiled my skin
oh
but when
he
did it?
when he was the reason? hm?
why was that fine?
but back to the race
i wipe it with the fabric,
sometimes it pools back up
i have to press it a little
just tighten the hold, I'll run out eventually.
and then i wait.
i wait for the blood to crust up, the ones that are
just bubbling up
so eager to escape, why?
i want you gone, too.
i feel so drained.
i wait for it to dry.
then i peel
pick
pry it off.
something in my head
realizes that this is a bit far.
shut up.
and i press my red fingers
to my lips.
see, i say red fingers
both because I enjoy
the texture of it. but also
because once I've gotten into the habit of
crunching.
my own blood,
as in doing it over
and over and over and over again
it makes the blood slowly revert back to
well
its normal blood self.
it mixes with my saliva, i think
and breaks down the solid form it takes as it dries
(paint dries)
which also got me to think of
blood cubes.
sip it, chew on it, press it on your head after
a hot, sweaty day
i
remember there was this video
that someone I know
posted on their story.
a very
"******" dom
Instagram dominant, taken, a stranger to me
but they influence me.
fangs.
not hers. but someones
teeth had been filed into fangs.
and they pierced anothers girls neck
the holes the holes the holes.
when the blood gushed out
a tongue slithered and
lapped it up.
I wondered how much would bleed out,
how much can you have without getting sick
could it be an acquired taste?
and i remember it made me nauseous.
i remember cringing at the idea of drinking
something so revolting.
and of being impaled too
the pain. the loss of blood. they'd pass out.
but now, i think "good."
now. i'd give up my voice.
to be able to drink it like that
to cut enough to drink until I'm hydrated
sipping chamomile tea
that's much too hot.
adam ******* on the TV, he's singing
The Wedding Singer
my, isn't he a God.
with peppermint to stir
sweet scents, if only i could smell.
and little blood cubes,
ooh yes,
melt in my tea
so that I may taste
myself
on my tongue.
because I don't think I'll trust anyone else to.
I'm going to **** myself tonight.
and if i fail, i need
to go back to a ******* hospital, there's
something wrong with me.