white is innocence

I don't do it for the pain  the blood the attention
when i drag metal against pale porcelein
a boy like me shouldn't press temptation
'your skin is so beautiful'
white and thin like a piece of silk
and the blood pumping under threads is meant to stay off the metal
even if liquid thoughts hit your cheeks and catch your eyelashes
state the obvious problem to the solution, see if they clutch and never let go
never mind that lines are littered across innocence
starting as a child with a sick fascination with his/my/the brother's scars
a weird feeling, that I had to touch
feel bumps through fingertips
and see how it raised
 how it changed texture from one thing to another, from death to failed attempts to first offenses
and strange familarity
stretched skin with thread pushed through each vein, holding apart broken thoughts and broken hands when they shake over a toolbox looking for release
the cool bite of the razors tongue leaving the trail or bright blood under it's touch
and it's those same scars that bloom beneath white dreams of innocence
climbing across my arm dying to get inside
my veins my thoughts my heart my hands
sweet addiction
muscle memory of each moment things got too hard
someone yelled too loud
I/he/we were too fat
not worth it
crying/screaming/throwing fits and trying to change- is impossible when your muscles remember sweet release