i cringed when i looked

at them. a sickly pale.

malnourished and

nothing to be proud

of. my wrists weren't

one of those

romanticized

canvases that a lot

of people tend to be

talking about. they

are not something

beautiful, or some

symbolic journey or

anything powerful

made out of poetry.

they're just wrists,

and they're unhealthy,

they show how illl i

truly am, and they're

bleeding red.