Make my heart a better place
Shred the last slivers of random jealousy
And scrape the irises that see nothing.
Like crimson nails
Chipped from work and cowardice
My last strip of vanity removed.

I hear it pounding in my wrists
Whispering obscenities
And in my fear I slash at them
Crimson upon my copper skin
Until the fear turned to hatred
Murdering the cacophony as it dripped.

There isn’t much to tell.
There isn’t much of anything.
There is only me
The voices coursing through my veins
My chipped nails
And the rusty razor blades.

So now I sit brain dead upon my porch
Repainting my nails with crimson
As it continued to drip in the stale air
The faint hissing of the gaping wound
The voices now upon my fingertips
Clotting.