im dead, and im not sorry.

Every little
slit
Is a reminder of something I did. Every little
gash
paints pictures of failure as the numbness courses through my
veins.
I’d rather spill a little
blood
Than deal with something deeper.

I’ll wear my
slices
as memories on my
wrist.
I’ll use the
pain
they come with.

What really gets to me is looking at old
photographs.
Seeing my once glowing blue
eyes.
No secrets cloud the vision. No
scars
Cloud the skin.

I realized something.
I’m so
sick
of
crying.

I swear to you.
I didn’t feel thing.
For too long, I’ve been
Dyeing.
There was nothing left to hurt.