Cemetery Dream

Dreaming was a thing that had to do with
slashing wrists and crushing hearts.
Self-destruction was the best,
and the most intricate form of beauty.
Through fear of light and darkness,
I showed myself reverence.

The knife did the talking
as it painted the bloody pictures
and my wrists thanked my broken body
as I made the final incisions

Everything was wrong
No sense would come to me
I wanted to fight,
or to die, I think.