Wrists

Just a poem

I love my bony wrists

I love them, because they are elegant and so fragile.

So break my fingers and starve me

Reach out to me, from where I stand. My eyes cast downward with salted water sliding down my cheekbones.

I don't want a reason to smile, and I don't want your pity.

I have no energy to scream, nor yell or break anything.

I want to take music.

I want to be a ballet dancer.

I want to make music so beautiful, the world will never say another bad thing about me.

I want to matter to this world.

I swipe my fingertips along the dust, and watch the cloud of it rise.

Everything is so delicate.

I'd like to be delicate.

But I am not and never will be.

My skin is covered in writings of my meaningless battles with trivial matters.

Matters so trivial, these writings are a waste.

Tell me, that you feel sorry for me.

Tell me you love me, and hurt me as many times as you like.

You know I'll be back.

Screaming, falling to my knees, begging stars for mercy.

Tears will fall down my face and blood will drip from my heart.

Give me back my youth, my bliss, my ignorance.

I am mangled, and I am a simple thing, crawling along the floorboards, craving attention.

I'll take it from anyone.

I am a hypocrite. I am a liar and a disgrace.

Never do I bother with the positive aspects of anything.

Whirling around, I'll smash the side of my head into a mirror.

Blood.

Leave me to my demise.

Let me sit on my own and tear at my forearms, eyes lifeless.

I did this to myself, so stop caring.

I don't believe in God, I don't believe in you.

Honestly, I think I'm living in a fevered dream.

So vain, so naive.

Kill me.

So I will find what I want.

From above, give me your hand and brush our fingertips together.

It is better, to let me suffer here.

I do not deserve the relief of death.

Not anymore, not ever.

I never did.

 

Reviews

[Sydney]

This is stunning. Beautifully descriptor phrases, I really felt what you were perpetrating.