Pretty Neon Blue - 07/23/10

My wrists.
The backs of my hands.
The tops of my feet.

Upon those three,
in beautiful, elegant blue,
my blood runs clearly
as if it were out of my body.
It seems silly at times
to keep it in me.
The way these veins

pop

and stand out
like they were made
to be broken,
like it’s wrong
for that blood
to stay inside.
Such a silly thing.

In the insanity
that 2:22 in the morning brings,
I chuckle,
actually chuckle,
at the notion,
at the bloody notion.
It sounds fun.
I clench my fist,
make the veins pop more
and feel the nausea
of the destruction
hit my stomach like a brick,
relax my hand.

And smile.
Actually smile.

Smile at the thought,
the terrible thought,
of all the blood
dripping all over
my white tank top,
my black sheets,
the tan carpet,
the marble sink top,
everywhere,
a trail more clear
than bread crumbs,
the most potent
you’ll ever find.
Vibrant,
unnaturally bright.
And so silly.