Though it
wasn't
a real suicide.
I got stabbed
yesterday
and I can still feel
the knife
crumbling around
inside my body.
It happened all over again
in the same way
it wasn't supposed
to happen.
In the blink of an eye,
I was dead again.
In the first one,
I barely escaped.
Some scars still
float on my old skin.
They used to scream
as a reminder of
how bad I can become,
how addicted
I can be
to the darkness.
Don't get me wrong,
I find comfort in it
every time we
have our meet.
But this addiction
can be dangerous,
as our love's was.
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