hate.

"darling, please do not hate anyone, 

no matter what they have done to you. 

we all have flesh and bones, 

we all bleed the same."

my mother told me that a few years ago. 

i told her i wouldn't.

now,

i hate myself.

i hate what i have done to myself.

i hate that i rip open my skin

just to feel anything at all,

but the blood that drips out is not the same

as the blood in your own veins

because its mine.

it's tainted with bottles of sleeping pills

and alcohol dreams.  

it rolls down my arm 

just like drunken watercolors on a canvas.

drip.

drip.

drip.

my blood is the proof

of how disgusting i am to my body.

don't you dare tell me we all bleed the same,

because my crimson nightmare

keeps the secrets inside of it

that i don't have the courage to admit

and those things only come out

with a blade.

although we all have blood,

we do not all bleed the same,

and i will say this until my lungs collapse.