One...
My family asks me how I'm doing daily
like they don't already know the answer I'll give them.
Two...
I tell them I'm fine.
Like I believe my name is "wine" or "china"
and putting "fine" before it makes it any better.
Three...
It's not a traditional fixation
but I still can't put the knife down
like an alcoholic
who can't put down the bottle.
Four...
The veins beneath my skin feel like fire most days.
My body being the house
and my blood being the fuel.
Five...
How do I extinguish something I can't reach?
Six...
The razors are just as effective..
Seven...
I fell today.
I saw the crimson my body was trying to contain.
It's not the same kind of pain I'm used to
but I welcomed it all the same.
Eight...
My skin boils..
Nine...
The knife is in my hand..
Ten...
The demons are in my head
and you can't escape your own mind.
Believe me, I've tried.
Eleven...
When I wake up
the doctors tell me it was a close call.
My addiction had moved from my mind
to my arms
and my wrists
and my thighs
and my stomach.
They told me I had lost so much blood
they had to steal it
from someone else's veins
for me to carry like a burden.
There was a more productive way
to use this precious blood
than to give it to someone
who would just bleed it out.
