When I desire the urge,
I look at the lines and flex to the nerve.
I realize I cause myself not to hurt,
Like rivers running black I draw with silver on my skin.
Turning the ink to red.
Body meets soul,
Curled up cold.
I hold myself accountable for wasting the ink on the floor.
Now my drawing turned to sores.
Closing my eyes while tears leak, in the mirror eyes turn to glass shattered by a blink.
Now numb with the drawing reading dumb.
Mask a person who isn't you, lost from where you are from.
Left unattended the ink runs, wandering about what I've done.
A hidden drawing behind sheets when I sleep.
Open my eyes with the ink stained on me.
What is done can't be erased,
It's a pen left to be permanent.
Caution signs for hands, I ignore it and stick to my plan.
Best friends with my ceiling fan,
Here stamped with a suicide bran.
One day flowers will cover me,
Soon enough getting lowered
Six foot deep.
