My veins are an inkwell
Pulling at my chest
Reaching a hand into the inky blackness of my lungs and
Grabbing the broiling dark mass
It pulls out nicely
Like snot pulled out with tweezers
It feels good once it's out,
I feel lighter now
Don't you see? I'm empty.
The pulling hand was the razor that carved into my skin
Blood pools in the sink and turns the swirling water crimson.
Don't you see? That was where the poison was.
It's gone now. Please tell me it's gone?