Posted by in Poetry, Writing

I’m hurting and Im low, so I type, erase, type, erase. Sometimes a status is an outlet, sometimes your undoing. Sometimes there’s no one else to hear you, no one really listening, so you shout it from the rooftops so that you don’t have to jump. Today, I thought of cutters. People who have to slip a blade across their flesh for relief. The way they must feel the pain rising up out of their bodies like a noxious gas, the sigh of release. And this is an age of…read more