there are scars on my thighs,
faded and warming up.
my trembling fingers do not crave to snap rubberbands              on my wrists for any longer.
give me lasting agony, lasting defacement,
give me the sick sight of crimson droplets splattering,
thudding like my tears,
falling
falling
fallen
onto my forgotten floor.
give me the ache of the rough jeans,
brushing harmlessly over my own
self-induced torture.
give me the bloodied tissue and
stained-red skin.
let the bags under my eyes darken with                                 the lost hours of sleep;
let my face turn sagged and pale and gray;
let any eyesight deteriorate into tunnel vision,
with my sight set on a shiny glint.
my head is vibrating with shaky breaths;
drops of salt tremble as they trespass over my lips;
my hair filters my vision into stringy strips of light.
the blades of my past slide off my shoulders,
and they are falling
falling
fallen
into the outstretched hands of mine.
and my fingers do not shake any longer
with the promise                                                              of fallen crimson .