A Beautiful Death

i used to make
small incisions
on my right wrist

i was 13 going on 14
my mother was dead
my brother gone
my father lost
and my sister out of control

funny enough
she had all the power
every time i picked up
that blade
i heard her whisper
my name
with her poison lips

she was all i though about

but it hurt too much
so i stopped

my premature self
thought i had won a war
fought cancer
achieved world peace

wow
i had stopped cutting

i guess the blade
didn't have the same effect
overlooked the fact that
the blade was temperamental

next year
my did finds his way
himself
figures out how to use his hands
and words and decides
that his brain works too

so he sends my sister away

literally gone

that year
i excelled in art class
my teacher told me my strokes were
intense and gratified
that my work took
her breath
away

except that year
i never took art
i taught myself
how to self express

the shiny edge my pencil
my paper, my wrist

it took my breath away

so i did it everyday

wishing my lungs
would finally slow to a halt

i wished to die
pencil in hand
laying atop my canvas
showing the world
the beauty of it all