Iâm aching with desire for things I cannot name. for words fo pour out of me like blood once did. for the numbness in my limbs and the warm bath and the numbness in my head and the wine, and other things. twice, i was so close. I'm far away now. far from the pain and the thoughts of murder, but filled with desire to feel the weight of the ocean on top of my lungs again. to walk on glass again. to swallow the needles I use to sew white socks with.
I crave violence.
I punch myself in the chest to let the air out. I draw lines on my skin with a 0.5 red sharpie. I torture my cat until she takes revenge. I no longer have the guts for any real damage. Iâve covered the scars - people would notice. people never used to notice.
I just want to disappear. I want to be lost in oblivion.


















