Invisible

A big, jagged bleeding line
runs from my wrist to
somewhere in the middle of my forearm.

The blood beads on it
dripping over and drawing lines
onto my arm
like the roads on a map.

Intersections
and
turning points.

I didn’t realise the toilet roll holder,
the bit that lets you sever a piece of toilet paper
from the rest,
was quite this sharp.

A giggle bubbles to my lips –
god, I’m insane.
And a tear runs down my cheek
creating a road on my face.

And then I’m sobbing,
terrible wretched sobs
drawn up from my gut
and exploding from my mouth.

Not wanting to get any blood
on my clothes,
I tear some toilet paper off
and press it to my arm

and then I lower my
head and sob my bleeding
heart out.