I ache for the sight of bleeding
wrists, and forearms. For
blood seeping through bandages,
Like the sun through shadow.
For the sight of a crimson blade,
And the tears of pale skin.
For the sight of a colouring book
To be gone over again.
For feeling faint, weak.
Like I could either fall or die
Any second now. And
Nobody knows which.
For feeling simultaneously
Weak and oh so brave
For forgetting about a future
Being fixed, clean, saved.
I ache to fall apart. As it is
All I know. Death is not a goal.
But I'll admit, it'd sure be
Nice to completely let go.
