your body is honest
when you're in physical pain, you cry
but the heart is a liar: it stays quiet even when it's hurting.
there is no anchor; this isn’t pride, this is a sorrowful confession.
of october losses were the people of this house departing
losses of november were my treasured pieces of familiarity and warmth, sanity charmed
loss of december will show me i am unlovable and everything i touch will both die and kill me.
i lose myself in puncturing my own skin and marvelling at dying colours and being naked,
lose my way in exchange for the fun to take my pain away
like a whimpering stray dog
miserable and unwanted
when all is done, at the end of the day, i would still be an empty can huddled in the corner of this torn house alone and all alone.
i take no pride in what mess i have made myself but this is the only
way left for me to sedate the sorrow.
to grow into everything i hated.
