In a drowsy whisper

Sitting on the edge of your bathtub

A pen in one hand

A razor in the other

Carves her words into the paper

"I don't need anything.

I'd be okay.

If you'd let me move on."

So strange

She only wanted to move forward

Badly enough

To write into the highway of veins

Coursing through her body

And, in those markings

Tell a deeper story

Than poetry ever could

She lets out a tear

And drowns her guilt in loud guitars

And someone else's agony

It feels so good

To feel pain

She can control

But soon enough, someone

Will find her, and say

"Clean up this mess."

But in honor of her misery

She'll tell them she's tired

The world has betrayed her trust

All she ever did was be good

And she was never rewarded

They'll tell her, with patronizing authority

"That's life."

And they'll never figure out

Why she prefers the alternative