Metal Medicine

My mind is going
Blurry. Blurryblurryblurryblurry…
I can’t stop it….
Oh, wait I can.
I run, runrunrunrun to the kitchen.
I reach for the dead tree drawer,
I reach for the silver blade.
The blade that helps,
The one that kills, kills
The Pain.
Undone goes my
Fly.
My Hip and its Flesh
Is exposed.
Exposedexposedexposed.
I take the metal medicine
And rub it against the skin.
The skin.
It slices, slicesslicesslices
My Skin.
The blood-red blood
Oozes out.
In drops.
It forms a line of liquid which
I squeeze.
Now, runrunrunrun to
The Bedroom.
I take my tissue, my
Special tissue.
The one already soaked in
Crimson rain.
Now, quickquickquick,
Press the wound,
Stop the blood.
Then, reopen the slit,
Let the blood out again.
And again. And.
Again.
Now….
Peace, tranquility,
Clarity.

Thanks to my
Metal medicine.

~*~*~I wrote this instead of cutting. I don't think it's very good, but I will put it anyway. I know it's confusing, but it's the way I used to feel. It feels weird to write a poem like this, unorganized and "chaotic". I don't know if that's a good thing.~*~*~