Wrists [Dec 20, 2005]

I hacked at my wrists,
Four hours and two gallons down the drain,
A line of blow and another slit,
Right down the center of my wrist.

I heard about a boy one day,
Who tried his best to get laid,
The girls all around just play,
She told Hilary "that guy should have stayed"

Ended up in a ditch, with no stitches,
He tried to be heard, through his work,
Drawings depict Jesus nailed to a dumpster,
Chopped to pieces, salvation is in the wine tonight.

Through the holy and the divine,
Id like to try and unwind,
Yet my hand is entwined in layers of barbwire,
Is this the truth or am I labeled a liar.

Now Ive found my darling razor blade,
Loosing control in this haze,
Carving 'Gorgeous' onto her chest,
She still breathes just silently.

Her dark blood drips off the piece,
Onto my skin, I feel the crimson burn away,
So it begins and the knife slides in,
I know I'm alive when I feel the sting.

Ian Robert Potapoff