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,

but-
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.