Sometimes, there is nothing

Else you can do.

Sometimes, in the lonely and dark

And endless nighttime, deadly thoughts

Creep in, leaving a trail of slime and

A bad taste in its

Wake.

Sometimes, when your body is

No longer yours

When Daddy's hands know

No boundaries on your (then)

Pre-pubescent skin, crawling quietly

Into your bed, the one with the faded

Pink sheets, covered in frail, twisting

Butterflies.

Sometimes when Mummy's long collapsed

Into a world of drug induced peace

Leaving a trail of scattered needles and

Long popped sleeves of pills

You seek solace in the only thing

You think that you can

And discover that sharp, shiny things biting

At clean bare flesh hurt a lot less

Than mummy's blatant abandonment.

Sometimes, your family chooses to ignore

Everything you say

Every sad thought, every melancholy word

Stacked neatly in a box and filed away,

Ignored.

Sometimes, at Christmas,

When the family is over

It feels better to not eat a scrap of food,

And when they make you,

Relinquish it all to a porcelain savior.

Sometimes, you have to ignore your instinct.

Tie the noose a little tighter,

Grip the razorblade a little firmer,

Push away the plate and ignore the chest pains.