Days of the Week

I died today. I die everyday. I cut myself open and pour burning liquor on my wounds every Tuesday. I'm dying and you all see it, but I smile and wave as my veins drain themselves of their purple blue pigment. I cried yesterday. I cry most days. I bleed tears and scream I'm lonely but that only happens on Mondays. My legs don't move, I crawl to my bed. These Thursdays are how I get the comfort that I've never had. Saturday tells me all my wishes will be granted but mine are buried in a cemetery tethered to my chained down casket. I hate fridays they bring the end of the week, the silence has become unbarable please let me speak. I cut away at my flesh, cutting out pieces and writing notes to the past because that's where it all happened deep down inside where my reality split and my heart died. Tomorrow is Wednesday, I can already feel it, screams being pushed from my throat but no sounds escape it. I can already sense the needles to my skin beginning to sew fabric so the missing pieces of my flesh are hidden again. I hate myself and that's no lie, I constantly feel like I should just die but you don't want to hear that because it's to sad well I guess I'll just lie and say those feelings don't last, they reach for me every Sunday morning and leave me in my sleep but I've already told you how this cycle repeats.

By Shiann

From United States

Instagram @shiann_larae