2/27/03
I really wanted to write a poem, so I was just thinking about varies topics and how I was feeling at the moment.. this is what I came up with.

It's Been too Long

Blood hasn't intentionally seeped from me for two months

I find myself wanting
to dig the knife into my flesh.
Drag it along my creamy inner thighs.

Watch as alabaster skin breaks
bright red bubbling to the surface of the long cut.

Feel the sting of pain that can only come
from my own hands.

My own hands that clench the handle
trembling hands, cold and numb.
Long digits perfect for gripping tight
for pushing down on the flesh
brining fresh blood to the surface.

I've been imagining different ways to do it

In the tub
blood mixing with the water
like a cheesy horror movie.

In the shower
blooding flowing down my legs
to mix with the water and go down the drain.

In my room
the pain throbbing in time with the music
the blood collecting on the ground,
to be washed away later.

There are many different ways of hurting yourself.
Candle wax, knife, razor, glass, scalding water.. the list goes on.
But the knife is about precision, coldness, detachment.
The best characteristics to have..
to cut into my own flesh
so the non-feelings can seep into my veins
and all the pain and sadness can seep out of them.