Convictions. Revisited.

Sickened at the thought of causing so much damage in this way

To the psyches of the family and friends that love me,

I can only dream of having such conviction to an action.

If only for a moment.

Perhaps that is what I miss most of my truly dark days,

Convinced that ripping through flesh was my only escape,

Further than just the relief of full conviction

Was the knowledge

That I had outdone so many of my kind

A wise transvestite preacher once spoke to me,

Asked me what I’d learned from my disease,

A simple one word answer was my reply,

It was all that he had needed, he had been there too

He said it took him so long to figure that out

‘When I sleep it doesn’t hurt’

He spoke without a doubt.

Sweet surrender of sleep,

Why have you left me?

Fuck this consciousness.

What is it’s value?

Despite the maniacal smile

Spread far ‘cross my face.

I resent myself fully

Insanity spilling from my fingers

As I channel

The inconsequential thoughts of my broken self.

Fuck if I know what sense can later be made

Of this scalding hot mess,

The hatred of this part of me

That I am never rid of

That I continue to embrace

On occasions such as these.

Hand me a blade and I’ll carve you a story.

Tell it to you as you stitch me together.

If only it were easy as needle and thread.