Paper Cuts

Flipping through notebook pages,

Death poetry from the darkest hour of my life,

Flipping through diary pages,

Tear-smudged, blood-stained, crinkled pages,

Entries from the darkest hours of my life,

Paper-cuts stain new, moist crimson over the original red-brown blotches,

I love the pain of slicing skin,

I love the hot tears running down my face,

The mascara trails make me look tragic,

Staring into my shadowy reflection,

Polished mirror in a dark room,

Wrist on the sink,

Knife in hand, so tight that my knuckles go white,

I feel the pain like the paper-cuts,

A million memories flood back in,

It doesn't make a difference,

I'm nearly gone,

Mangled wrists, sink edged with blood,

Paper-cuts gave me my first taste of death,

It tantalized me,

I wanted more,

Now I nearly have it.

 

The End

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