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attention whore confessions

the small sharp kitchen knife
with its white handle in the harsh sunshine
is held in my experienced & steady right hand
the cool metal against my wrist
making one inch cuts in a row across my veins
as i stand in my thirteen year old room
the day is sticky like the smooth line of red
against my pale white skin
my eyes wide, i stare at the blood
i never clean or cover with band aids
i toss the sharp object to my bed,
& it lays among the dolphin sheets
like it does every day
after i find it hidden in my desk drawer
i lay among these sheets,
falling asleep
blinking open my eyes
i see my blurry mother
furrowed forehead, concerned eyes
the blood drains from my face
and is dried on my wrist
my eyes move from my mother
to the knife
to my wrist
and back again to rest on her.

"childlike mistakes of a summer day" revised

24 Apr 07

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