I sit in my room staring at the wall,
trying to quiet my mind
from its own chaos.
I picture in my memory a beautiful color red,
darker than a cardinal’s breast
spilling onto the floor.
People always ask, “How can you do that to yourself?”
It doesn’t hurt
like they think it should.
I can’t feel the metal as it slides
cold and bitter
along my arm.
My mind is too crowded with thoughts to notice.
Then in the aftermath,
nothing but silence.
I never believed that what I did
mattered to other people
or hurt other people.
I was wrong.
I was selfish.
the people I loved
reached into the hell I’d built myself
and pulled me out.