on some nights alone in my bed room|
i used to draw pictures of lines with razor blades
across my skin
over my wrists
and then the tears would salt up the blood
and when i licked
it was the most different taste ever.
the slight metallic sweetness, with a hint of the sea thrown in.
the pain sometimes numbed out most of the mental frustration
and beads of blood would soak through sheets.
i was always so hateful
that every night i would be crying
bled and shed.
i still have the scars.
things just got better
and i got smarter.
he found me.
and so the wounds closed up and walls stopped closing in
i watched the pieces fall, i always knew they fit
i just didn't know how.
naked and torn, and
i still can't forget how beautiful your skin was. like the fuzz of a peach.
you had wings, you just didn't fly, and stayed with me instead.
and i loved, and desired you for every fucking minute. i'd get overwhelmed with want, and flurries of thoughts.
i didn't bleed for you this time though.
Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien