Covalent. Eyes like the two a.m train. Disappear. Strawberry flavored throw up. Violent. Opiate tongue. Ashtrays. Shoot and kill. Throwing up food in the playground. Making flowers grow from between angel legs to attract attention from older boys. Wearing baby bibs to drink pink wine. Adopting behavioral techniques to cut better and/or deeper. Looking at your knees for over an hour with bleeding hands. Pushing fingers inside everything. Making mommy cry. Turning blue at bath time like an ocean.
You become a regular at the emergency room: dead-eyed, shaking, covered in blood. And while you sleep the nurses will all whisper about how you are such a ruined thing; a hopeless case. They will place bets on your return.
YOU ARE READING
It's Probably Better This Way
Poetry"I have put my heart and my soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process" -Vincent Van Gogh
