Vivre

Self-mutilator.
That's what the scars on the back of the right hand say. It's what the chapped lips say.
The silence is what really says it all though.

It's not intentional;
that is, waking up to find two fresh marks
like vampire bites.

A vampire...
a shadow in the corner, an unapproachable being
that won't put up with your bullshit.

Relationships are fading faster now.
It's just the scars now.
It's just the ego now.

Fantasies take too much time
and the sky turns fluorescent.

Find the pen and the paper,
write the thoughts away.
There will be another repetition
and another chance to tell him the words.

Another mistake yet no regrets;
that is, except one.