poetry for the poetic: 5

CXXVI

i accidentally cut myself with a kitchen knife.
it felt so good i did it again until it became a gimlet
i do not know why i love this pain so much
but it beats the pain of remembering his touch
the pull of my clothes as my mind tried to comprehend
too weak to defend, too young to mend
left only with the option to drink away his memory
go through pills like candy to alleviate the agony
a mind beset by anguish
is a mind with no language
no form of proper communication
just self inflicted disintegration
a dire need within to plot out his death at the expense of my blood soaked wrists
for if my heart no longer beats he no longer exists.