8 months free

8 months down the drain Blood congeals then clots but has no time to scar I bleed myself empty, my vessel full of progress, full of hours and days and weeks and months lies slashed and broken on the floor, sliced through by my own shaking hand The fullness that I felt is flushed when I clean up No one can know. No one but you. Doctors swarm around me, needles and gauze, pills and cold water They poke and prod and promise not to tell I beg them not to tell Because no one can know But I did tell you, faint red finger stains on cracked glass It hurt more than why I’m here, telling you Because I could see that hollow, helpless look in your eyes from miles away 8 months down the drain, why bother trying again? Why bother trying at all? 7 months and 30 days ago I said those words 7 months and 30 days ago I reached into the ugly mess of my stomach, my fingers dripping, and pulled out the words I sent to you 7 months and 30 days ago I saw flesh slide over itself loose from the bonds of bone, saw blood on tile and wood and sheet that would not stop I called for help, for you, for the world to stop turning and my static brain to rest. It didn’t. I saw blood again. 7 months and 29 days ago I hurt again, I was still bleeding from the day before but new wounds did not open 7 months and 28 days ago still hurt from the day before, I stayed in bed all day but new wounds did not open 27 days ago 26 25 And despite my static brain and turning world, the black hole of my progress from before, new wounds did not open 1 day in the future I will once again hold 8 months My vessel, scarred from gashes and needles, will be as full as it has ever been Then one day will pass Then another And another And I will call you again, clean fingers on cracked glass And no one will know No one but you