i'm almost proud sometimes.

can you? can you do it?

hurt like i do, and live.

though, live isn't the right word.

neither is survive, yet.

i haven't earned those;

the desire to bleed is still too strong,

too powerful,

too close, and

too easy to achieve.


22 sharp bits of metal.

pins, paperclip...

so close.

i could do it.

but i won't.

some mysterious force has

drawn me

for 45 days now.

and i think i

hate it.

it's a part of me like my name,

my hair,

my jeans.

i miss it horribly,

and yet i know

i should be happy,



i don't act quite so

fucked up.

a/n: credit for the title goes to Garbage's song Bleed Like Me.