I will probably need to give this post a trigger warning, though to reassure anyone who is concerned, I opted instead to bleed with words.
I examine the blue veins highwaying my wrist
where your fingers rested a paper-slice away from my life force.
Veins visible and dramatic beneath my anorexic physique and translucent skin.
Veins like roots protruding the surface,
my insides and my dreams laid bare
for you to tender, if you wish, or slay.
I imagine slitting these veins.
These veins, once bursting with your love.
These veins now waterless river channels meandering to my heart.
Emptied as fast as they were filled.
Helplessly waiting for the next rain fall.
Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.
Dying more and more as each day drags on.
The angel and the devil,
the villain and the hero,
Are one and the same.
So I push away both
and return to a solitary world
behind closed doors,
behind the stillness of night, my only friend,
and behind my bags yet to be unpacked.
Bags stained with the sour taste of my final day
when the silence, perhaps, said all there was to speak.