Glamorizing Suicide

I can sit here needlessly wanting you
while I also want to trace my veins with a knife
tiny porcelain hairs on the tops of my thighs
engraving sensory ducts
I hope to feel again.

Oh bitter-sweet
my sweet tooth never understood fully
what it meant to bite too hard into
something sour enough to make you want to kill you.

And dead skin sits under my nails
trinkets and bloody bracelets
glamorize
fantasize

really there's some anti-bac
hair scrunchies covered in blood
a pot of sudocrem, 2 paracetamol
plasters, long or fat not circular
my arms which aren't romantic
the body of someone dead
but so much oxygen
it would be rude not to keep breathing.
More blood, stickier this time
cotton wool doused with iodine
dead skin to pick off
bleached side table, clean

how long for.