When I slice into my skin like digging my own grave

I wait and watch as the flesh parts into a red sea 

Thick orange sap poignantly pulsating out and dripping,

Dripping down my thigh and staining the linoleum floor 

The sticky syrup crawls outwards in every direction

I swipe my hand across the channels, painting it red

Dragging my palms down my face, my neck, my chest

Bathing like a phoenix in the ashes of my own filth 

I prayed one day you would tear down the door 

And curl your nose and narrow your eyes in disgust

Calling me dirty, like a baby boy having an accident 

Wetting myself with blood soaking through my pants

You could pick me up from the puddle and embrace me

Then slam my sliced up body back down to the ground 

Skin dotted with black and purple and red blemishes

Disfigured and covered in scars, would you look at me?

Tracing the handprints on the porcelain walls of the tub

Sitting in the shower as boiling water runs down my back 

Your fists pounding this time on the door instead of me

I want you to look at me.