Ah Holidays

I've never been a lot
      and god-damn it must be hard
to be so much for so little.

To finally be feeling makes me want to tell you everything.
But I barely know myself
enough to tell you the stories
of my cuts and scrapes.

I know you don't care
and I can no longer tell if the alcohol is fuzzing my blood or if you are
and I'm not crying because I'm all alone, rather because I've always been.

The machinery in my head has seized
fixated,
alienated.
Revoking the same thought pattern till memories rust
and dreams blur
making every nights sleep
a watercolour nightmare.

I want to pull bits off, cut them away.

It's been 3 months. Clean.
                   And this is too much.
                   And I'm still not enough.
                   Never enough.
Did I hear you say you liked it rough?
I'm tender, don't laugh.
But there's a blade in my hand and an emptiness I love.