It was one of those days;

When the clouds fell like chalk dust,

And the brittle promises of spring

Snapped underfoot.

Those pale little worms of self-loathing

Came out to play again,

Crawling over your skin;

But nothing scratches that itch like a razor.

The bathtub jabbed white ridges

Into your skin shield;

But even when night ran into ice

You remained intrigued with the poetry

On your wrist.

Long, unnecessary sleeves kissed the bruise

Of your unnecessary pain.

A smile flickered like an unwatched movie.

It was one of those days.