(trigger warning: self harm)
i am picasso with a blade
rather than a canvas
i use flesh instead
i like the way it drips
and paints my bathroom flooring red
i used to litter names and lyrics on my wrists
covering them in ink
now i litter them with pinkish scars
that burn like flames in the sink
isn't it beautiful?
the way i carve these abstract stories
into my skin?
the way i ooze out with sin?
my eyes pour with guilt
but not for this
for this i am not sorry
