wearing only a vest
I carry the chopping board into the bathroom
along with the knife
I sharpened it
it bites into the wood pretty well
I collect an old towel
but change my mind
and get a soft, crimson, towel
and arrange it on the
shiny floor
under the
wooden board
with the
knife
I look at myself in the mirror
he looks away
I watch him slide from view
and spread my legs
and lay my penis and sack
on the board
shuffling to a good position
I take a throat of vodka
and flinch
and splash some on my balls
i’m feeling faint
my heart is racing
hands
are cold and sweaty
so are feet
I worry my toes are too cold
the black floor shines hard
I breathe
and pick up the knife with my right hand
and gently lift my penis
with my left
and lay it to the side
exposing the flat
veiny skin
I want to begin
but I cannot move
I cannot think
I hear birds sing
and people doing
everyday things
I pull my
right testicle
to make the skin taut
my penis enlarges a little
which makes me laugh a little
I hold the knife blade
on the thin piece of skin
and draw along it’s edge
and feel an exquisite bite
and I gasp
my penis is hard
there is pain
and abrasion
and blood
but the pain gets too much
as the knife goes further
towards the wires
and my balls twitch
I can’t continue
I put the knife down
and shaking
sweaty bloody handed
pick up the vodka
and drink a half mouth
(holding it, for a second)
and splash some
on the wound
which is small
and bloody and pathetic
I am not strong enough
I feel
the man in the mirror
looking at me
with questions and pity
I try to breath well-
drink air
an urge
to pull hard and tear
what is begun
but it won’t be enough
balls would be left skinned
dangling from frayed wires
and the worst
would still be to come
not too late to clean up and explain
some strange accident
(I slipped on my bike?)
drink
come on! COME ON!
YEAGH!
come on!
drink
breath
brush my penis aside with my left knuckles
and collect my bag of problems
they are fucking with you
trying to save their lives
well stop listening
you have to cut the connection
I will put the pain
in a cupboard
in my brain
next to the man in the mirror
and the blood will stop eventually
I hold the knife
I hold the sack
I start to cut
I start to cry
I breath with wild noises
I will not die
(did I clean the knife?)
I will be born into
some new kind of life
(will I sing soprano?)
pain is joy
i’m cutting through
it doesn’t feel like mine
it won’t be soon
feels like half way
I remember on a beach
and rocks
on a Cornish family holiday
I was a young innocent boy
I will be again
i’m excited and somehow
the pain
is like a delirium
the right one
I know it
is gone
the left one
hangs on
should I have done that one first?
(it’s bigger)
it is trying to communicate-
one is better than none
it seems to be connected
by a thick trunk
I start to get that
kicked in the balls
nausea, dull pain
as I approach with the blade
coming through!
choo choo!
steaming through
come on!
arghhhhhh!
come on
you can drink the vodka soon
fuck that’s a lot of blood
my hand
is too weak to cut through
somewhere in my mind
between my ears
something takes control and
through my tears I grab the left nut
take the knife and turn it round
put it under the
stretching pink bloody last strings and fibres and
rip upwards
with hate and love and passion and joy and
fear and loss
and birth and goddamn blood and pain
big bloody swig of vodka
splash in towel and
hold it down under my
lost and lonely pain
elephant after ivory hunters
I am so excited
what a sense of achievement
what an overwhelming reservoir of doubt
is being held back
in my throbbing head
lying on the floor
is the skin blood and gore
of my problem
the world’s problems
well is it?
I guess now we’ll see
janainaart
izzy806
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
ellievsbear
turnnoffyourmind
