Bloodwork
Somedays I want to choke myself to death
To strangle my neck until my face turns blue
To wrap the ends of a nylon string to my hands
Like corsages on a ballerina’s wrist
To keep dancing
Until my face turns blue
Somedays I want to carve a pattern on the insides of my wrists
Weaving intricate patterns bleeding red with some sharp elegant cuts on the bluish veins
To watch myself bleed to death
To paint the walls of a room with splattering designs
To burn my body alive
What a waste my brain wants to say
Worth the experience my heart believes
The pain the horror the infliction
To be able to write about a burning body
After having experienced it thoroughly
To watch the blood drip down
Drop by drop, trickling
Darker splashes on the top
Faded ones by the bottom
I wonder if I spin
Would the patterns turn more beautiful
Would it resemble a mandala
If I kept turning and turning and turning
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