I feel nothing inside my beating heart
but the massive emptiness of my black soul.
I�ve tried many things to rid myself
of the monsters that scratch just below the surface of my skin.
Shiny razorblades that invite me, foods that scream
my name, sex that aids to the fire burning within
me. Like the air, it shifts breezes around
me; invites me in. Makes me feel at home.
He asks me to give him all of myself to him
but he doesn�t understand. As much as I want him,
more than I hunger for the blade�
how can I give myself if I have always been taken?
How do I discern what he wants versus what
others want? I look my serene, sad surroundings.
At the dripping blade, the running water, the
stinging pain etched down my arm.
This small blade debilitated me in a few short slices.
What could he do if I have myself
to him?
How many slices and scars would he make?
I think of his smile, and the state of numb
boils inside threatening to run over.
I have his heart in one hand�
a blade in the other.
Which will I choose?
