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