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Illustration by Gabrielle Conlon

tw: self harm, blood, death

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there’s always blood under my nails

dead skin under my sheets

cuticles pulled back

fingers so itchy

in need of something to scratch

the scabs on my legs

the worthlessness in my head

i don’t know what to do

all i have is this

a gift only i would be the happy recipient of

cut open my veins

i bleed debt and despair

dig me a grave so that i might sleep

rest my weary soul

close my eyes and see something

that isn’t self loathing and the abyss

i can’t flush everything down the pipes

into the system of waste removal

i can’t fit inside the porcelain basin

can’t return to the warmth of the womb

there’s no going back to sweet dependance

the bliss of umbilical cord safety

maybe if i cut off my hair i’ll be okay

and if i cut my nails

there won’t be any blood under them

but they’ll grow back

the nails

the hair

the doubt

maybe if i skip a meal i’ll find myself in the mirror

maybe if i take that knife i’ll find myself in the dirtied napkins of guilt

maybe if i shave off the excess i’ll take up less room

my impulsive delights will reveal to me in the morning

the false beauty of my delusions

it’s hard to choose a superpower

let me choose invisibility

i’m not actually here

but you say i am

which is how i know i’ve failed

so it’s back to the drawing board

what is there left to dispose of

this ship is sinking

all the extra weight dragging me to the bottom

what can i throw overboard

and still be left with my sanity

watery grave of insomnia stained pillows

shark bait for every shadow in this ocean

this is pain

deep and still deeper still

what value is there in a world

half submerged