Better Like This

Written September 4, 2011

traded the discipline for blood:
used to be a consequence
of my missteps and shortcomings:
a last resort, a punishment of sorts.

but god, was it better.
and dammit, did i realize
that i could get this release
without compromising my
intellectual and physical strength.

oh god, is it better.

you know, and i'm not hiding it.
i'm taking no pains to hide it.
still, no words, no questions;
i guess a smile covers everything.

oh god, is it better?

that i take this edge against my skin,
needing to watch the crimson droplets
seep slowly through these slits...
for any reason now?

for failure.
or anxiety.
anger.
loneliness.
self-hatred.

or even just when i'm
feeling too goddamn happy?

oh god, it can't be better.

'cause now i need the feeling
of metal tucked safely away,
always on my person...
just in case.

now no pain is great enough
to replace my mind's maelstrom.
nowhere is unclean enough
to reflect the shitty soul i am.

oh god, i said i'm better,
but this can't be better;
i can't be better
like this.