His Scars, And My Thoughts

Something sharp running across your blue veins,
not your nails,
not a mistake,
just adrenaline,
and you coying away.

Because it's always been a floating thought like a cloud,
vaporized in the meat of your mind.
And you've thought about its sharpness
ever since you've held silverware for a long time.

Some people swear you feel it like a punch,
others say it's warm and hot like caramel

      I wonder who's right
It's the reason I grab my veins and wrists to keep them from falling.
Why I put knives in the drawer before they do something to my-

I can feel every vein in my body sticking out like a soar thumb or walking sticks being threaded into them like bands in loose pants

like having a needle in and keeping it there so the medicine pours,
but your body won't accept the needle
So you ache and ache,

I'm normal
I'm OK.
Just afraid of impulses and possibilities,
ending up to be my fate.

I am scared from daggers and anything you could stick in my eye,
I am normal,
a mantra I'll keep in my mind,
              my twisted scared mind.

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