Dark Rose

I cut. I cut into my flesh to see the blood pool into Droplets, to feel the sensation of being ALIVE, Instead of the incessant dream-like feeling I Always seem to possess throughout the Duration of my day-to-day. I cut. I wipe the blood around in circles with my Fingertips in order to prove to myself that I Am, in fact, REAL, present, mortal. I dig deep with a kitchen knife, I slice Haphazardly, unconsciously searching, Praying, even, for that feeling, that Knowledge that I am a being; a human Being, capable of dying, capable of emitting This red, sticky substance which oozes from My arms, my legs. I don’t care anymore if it’s seen, if it’s known That I need this confirmation. I cut. I breathe in fresh air every time I slice flesh And I feel, I feel, I feel. I live, I am a person, I am here on earth, On this corrupt planet of suffering; I am a body carrying a heart which will One day stop beating. And I don’t want it to stop, and yet… I do. So many times, I do. But the constant remains, let me live And suffer, and above all, LOVE. I can withstand the pain if such Pain is worth undergoing. Stop. I cut to bring myself back to reality, To remind myself to breathe. Oxygen fills my lungs when the blood Comes into view and then, right there, I know that I exist.