May 7, 2008


*note to readers*
This poem was written during part of the healing process from the SI. I kind of wrote about my pattern and what I would do. Some of this is exactly what I did while some of it comes from friends stories.
*end note to readers*

The razor blade
With a will of its own
The skin
The blood
Through the space
Down my arm

I watch
But it is not my arm
You see
It’s not mine,
Not until the pain comes

Then the arm becomes mine
And I realize what I have done
The blood flows
I quickly grab some
Toilet paper
And press it against my skin
The toilet paper turns red with my blood
But I am alive
I know this…
I know this because
Dead people don’t bleed
The bleeding slows
I remove the toilet paper
I begin cleaning the wound
I’ve done this nearly every time
I’m no even sure for how long

Good it’s clean
Now for the gauze and tape
And on top of that the wristband
No one will ever know
Now there is relief
All I have to do is press on it
But dead people don’t feel pain
And that is all I need to know
--for now

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