Repent and Bleed

It is an untouchable restlessness. The bleeding scares it off. For now. The blood and the deep burn, the quick slice of the tough ropes holding skin together. Loosening and opening onto purple flesh. And I swear inscribed inside of me is the key to success, what to do next, the reason I am here. And yeah, I could write about the warm liquid drip, drip, pattering, splattering onto the bathroom tile. I could write about how I look at it in the mirror, turning this way and that like trying on a new dress, then wear layers for days to cover it up. And the stories I make up so I can show off the scars without getting too personal. But it's really the strength and adrenaline. To take a knife over and over across soft skin and not even flinch when the edge finds a vein. It's never being sharp enough, but being okay with the slow process of dull.