• Red droplets race down my sides,
    Down my wrists, my ankles, my thighs.
    As they race downward, they make designs.
    As they race, I do not cry.
    I have a mark on my body for every error I’ve made…
    So far I have a million, and am nowhere close to done.
    My friend, my blade, approves of what I’ve made.
    I made a fine mess, a masterpiece,
    Such a fine array of marks, big and small.
    Such a fine assortment of lines, not small, but tall….
    And still So many ways to hide them all.
    Lie to me and tell me I was SICK all along.
    Lie to me and say THAT PLACE is where I belong.
    Red droplets envelop me with the paths they leave.
    Is it only blood, or is it only lies that I BLEED?
    I can lie and tell myself I’m not SICK,
    But that lie is the reason I long so much to BLEED.
    And on my sanity the voices FEED....