I’m scared of myself
* * *
These days I’m trying to kill me
I can’t look at my wrists
without imagining drawing a blade across them
like this will let all the sadness pour out of me
and I’ll be fine
* * *
Every time I reach for my pills
I wonder if they would taste like candy
If I’d continue to pop them into my mouth
Would they turn sweet after the seventeenth pill?
the twenty-fifth? the fourteenth?
* * *
I close my eyes
wondering if I really want to open them again
* * *
How do you hide from a killer
that always knows exactly where you are?
