Writhing

Through the blue light brilliance of a perfect morning,

Sterling silver splits the cerulean dome of the heavens apart,

Revealing a red-eyed sky that cinges and sears through my sense of security,

White hot and burning down my beautiful handmade world that is held together delicately,

By a false sense of hope and recovery,

90 days of fresh white blood cells pasting together to form a beautiful scar,

That screams at me memories of the euphoria of a razor blade's love,

Remembrance of that last syrupy, thick, intoxicating experience of severing all ties with sanity and reality,

And severing the flesh stretched over the expanse of my bones,

It tides me over for 90 days longer,

Until the burning sensation in my veins begins to simmer and creep up my soul,

Wrapping up my body and digging its talons into my face,

Locking its fingers behind my eyes and pulling my very will towards its own,

I writhe, twisted and demented, in pain upon the sparkling marble floors below me,

Screams roar upwards, from deep within my belly,

Feverishly howling like a rabid wolf for relief from this disease of mine,

That eats my self-esteem, my light, like a cancerous tumor that has grown out of my ability to control,

And as if posessed by some demonic force from the fiery pits of hell,

I place the blade to my wrist ritualistically in a calmed trance,

Press and drag, press and drag, press and drag,

Being an addict is so much fun....