Cuts

Flows through me.

Keeps me alive.

But the only time I care,

Is when it drips off my arm.

Or runs down my leg.

Or soaks into my shirt.

One drop.

A memory.

A love.

Gone now.

Doesn't matter,

I deserve it.

Sometimes I wonder

What I've become.

It's simple.

I've become me.

Author's Note

Don't tell me to get better. I hear that every day. And more importantly, I won't listen.