Sometimes, there is nothing
Else you can do.
Sometimes, in the lonely and dark
And endless nighttime, deadly thoughts
Creep in, leaving a trail of slime and
A bad taste in its
Wake.
Sometimes, when your body is
No longer yours
When Daddy's hands know
No boundaries on your (then)
Pre-pubescent skin, crawling quietly
Into your bed, the one with the faded
Pink sheets, covered in frail, twisting
Butterflies.
Sometimes when Mummy's long collapsed
Into a world of drug induced peace
Leaving a trail of scattered needles and
Long popped sleeves of pills
You seek solace in the only thing
You think that you can
And discover that sharp, shiny things biting
At clean bare flesh hurt a lot less
Than mummy's blatant abandonment.
Sometimes, your family chooses to ignore
Everything you say
Every sad thought, every melancholy word
Stacked neatly in a box and filed away,
Ignored.
Sometimes, at Christmas,
When the family is over
It feels better to not eat a scrap of food,
And when they make you,
Relinquish it all to a porcelain savior.
Sometimes, you have to ignore your instinct.
Tie the noose a little tighter,
Grip the razorblade a little firmer,
Push away the plate and ignore the chest pains.