Poésie

This is Lead Poisoning (Slit Your Wrists)

you'll ask your mom about lead poisoning in the car one morning, pretend it's for a science project. you'll ask about lead that scrapes your skin, the metal kind. she won't be suspicious. how much lead does it take to kill a person?

you'll select your box out of your sister's collection of old macy's jewelry gift boxes. you'll decide that a small one is better, easier to conceal. you'll tuck it between your mattress and your bed frame, only to be retrieved in the dead of night.

you'll type in "self harm" in the instagram hashtag search bar, but only after making sure there's away to delete your history on this particular brand of social media. you'll scroll through recovery inspiration posts until you come to a how-to page. you won't follow it, but you'll write down the username in your journal.

you'll ask your mom for new art supplies. tell her you need a pencil sharpener with multiple different sections for your nice colored pencils. you'll break into your dad's tool box and take out the tiniest screwdriver you can find. remove the blades from the sharpener, and put them in your box.

you'll wait until it gets really bad to open the box, but when you do, it'll never close. you'll listen for the sounds of mommy and daddy going to bed before you flick the light back on and test the sharpness of the blade against your fingertip.

your first lines will be hesitation marks. you'll be shocked by the sting, almost afraid of it, and then hungry for the feeling again. it'll be frustrating, waiting for the blood to bubble to the top of the cuts. soon you'll go faster, slicing repeatedly until your wrists resemble the keys of a piano, deeper marks the black keys.

you'll love it. there will be days when you come home with one thought in your mind; the thought of opening the box. you'll slice your body into ribbons and tie the in bows around your heart, lock it up in pieces of your broken body.

you'll break yourself into a thousand pieces this way.

but someone will save you. you'll take a breath of air one day, resurface from under the pounds of heartache, and your someone will catch a whiff of the blood on your skin.

it'll be your mother, your sister, your best friend, your first love.

they'll pull you from the ashes and kiss your wounds until they heal over. let them heal over.