The pull is heavy, dark gravity.
A magnet inside of my wrist
It promises peace.
A logic that’s hard to resist.
I’m tired of the noise and the pressure.
The static that screams in my head.
I need a definitive measure.
To feel like I’m living, or dead.
The blades are sharp, sudden lightning quick.
But the bottles its quiet and deep
Three times I tried ending the fighting.
By drifting away in my sleep.
Three times the white plastic and powder
Were supposed to just turn out the light,
But the failure only grew louder.
When I woke to the glare of the night.
Now I stick to the edge and the crimson,
Because I can choose when it stops
It’s a cage that I have built with my own blood.
Collecting the slow, steady drops on a band-aid
Theres such a rush in the sting and the seeing,
A warmth that feels almost like grace
The only part of my being
That I can look straight in the face
But the guilt is a ghost in the hallway,
And the control is a chain on my floor.
I’m back in the same broken doorway.
I’ve walked through a thousand times before.
The pills were a leap in the distance,
But this is a slow, steady burn.
A desperate, hollow persistence,
With lessons that I can’t seem to unlearn.