Monday, November 25, 2002

trust me, there's nothing to believe.

my pain could do me in
or so could my blade.
two sharp jabs and long
draws up the arms
paralleling the veins.
bisecting the angry scratches
- my mutilated arms -
don't you think they're beautiful?
call me selfish.
call me a poser.
i don't give a damn.

Wednesday, November 20, 2002


i covered it all up
so i seemed "safe"
and if i'd had any idea
i would have tried deeper
i would have been
perfectly sliced to pieces.

Monday, November 18, 2002

2 pills i took to keep from destroying myself

And i know this is fucked up
but now it's you i'm bleeding for
and if i were you i'd wear it like a badge.

Sunday, November 17, 2002

romancing the blade

you're such a quiet companion
you only demand what i want to give
you need only what i desire
and i would give anything
to be alone with you now
we could let the blood out together
create beautiful slashes
colors i love...
red on white
i can almost feel the sweet agony
and i've gone for far too long,
ignoring your call,
my precious razor.

Wednesday, November 13, 2002


i hold (or try) the twisted tissue
under my splayed, sticky fingers,
subcutaneously grasping
the slicksharp edge agony

sprawling in
a cemetery, waiting
for the flow
to slow
to walk back to my room, wrap
up in tight-tourniquet tape

no idea how
it happened, must have
accidentally hit
something, didn’t notice
when i did it
(god, that’s big)
at work, broken glass,
the cat scratched my arm…
scraped it
on the sharp metal trim
in my car, falling off. really.
i swear.

*also in my senior thesis. unlike many other poems also in my thesis, this went under extensive revision, whereas other ones i used mostly in their original state. i noticed while revising and re-revising my thesis, that it didn't seem to matter how old a poem was; some poems come out fully formed, and others start an idea that you later have to bring out of the original poem, and expound upon. no one hits perfection every time, especially without revision.

Monday, November 4, 2002

only just

i want to hold you
touch your hair, brush it
from your face
to see you,
knees drawn up in agony
i want to kiss your scarred arms
that took the blows for you
and hold you, in mine,
you don't know this exists,
that i can touch your secrets
from time to time,
and wipe your tears
as you sleep.