Poetry Of A Self Portrait

Look at me
What do you
see
I'm decaying
I'm laying
in this bed that I made
This bed that I made for myself.

In this cold, dark ground,
The one that is stone cold
like a grave.
The grave that I dug for myself
Over
and
Over
AGAIN.

This reflection so tired in this same broken mirror.
Anal, conceited, paying attention to
small
DETAIL.

These blackheads, these scars,
These grey hairs that everybody
denies when I make a point of them.

I dissappear
and...reappear.

Dismantled.

ERUPT.

These thoughts of self harm,
so
Abrupt.

They Gut

Me.