• your guitar hates you
    and your pen wants you dead
    still you’re at their feet desperately
    begging to be fed
    they vitalize you; they’re medicine
    that keeps your blood warm
    when you drip in pretty things
    it’s nearly the same release of chemicals
    that you stimulate when you stick razors in your arm
    and you worry for your mental health
    everyday
    but nothing like the days
    when you sweat over the fact
    that you are seduced by escaping blood
    when your friends rip their skin
    just so you can get a sip
    and that act shows up in your head as love
    this isn’t the first time
    that you notice you’re not alright