Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Suicide Below The Waist

Pain trumps everything.

Prayers go like this:  Take it away! Take it away! Give it to someone else! Anyone else!  If this is a lesson I don't want it!  I don't get it!  I will never get it!

Pleas go like this:  Kill me now!  I swear!  I'm ready! Kill me now!  Just cut the damn thing off!  I don't need it anymore.  Please, please, please.  End this!

Wounds look like this:  Cigarette burns.  Ringed and surrounded by deep red flesh.  Moist.  Hardened blisters.  Serrated scrapes tearing away what remains of the surface.  Fire.  Pulling, ripping with every movement.

What time is it?  What did I want to accomplish today?  What did I do?  Was that an accomplishment?  When the tears come and continue what is the cause?  Will it ever end?

I will never get better.

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