letters to s.d.: fragment #1 {lifeline}

To: S.D., West Coast
Southern California
Return address: V.M.J.T.
Tijuana, Mexico

dear s.d.,

i don’t know how to begin,

but I know where it all starts.

it starts with me carving

gold stars on my wrists

and leaving tissues stained

with a beautiful shade of red

sopping over the metal kitchen sink,

glinting a hypnotic silver like

the blade in my trembling hands

…and that’s where it all was

simply supposed to have ended.

but apparently i’m still alive

and instead of wasting my blood

i’ll use the rusty ink to write

to you instead. so, how are you?

i miss the thought of losing you

and your silly uttered promises.

you said you’ll be the catalyst

to my raging cancer, but I’m still

crippled and weak from the fear.

you also told me you’d come to

separate my throat from my own

cold dead hands, but you’re still

missing and I’m still meaningless.

your lies are inebriating, darling.

you keep running circles in my

one-track mind 24/7, 365 days,

but I don’t think of you enough

or otherwise I wouldn’t have

proceeded with painting my

paper skin with rubious liquid

before shredding it to pieces

like any other filthy, disgusting

untoward abstract art deserves.

as my guts twist and untwist like

the grey earphone cords jammed

in my ears, blasting this fucking

world away with fake allegories

of a boulder hard lullaby melody,

and your voice screams the song

that i fell hard for. i’m fully aware

that you were singing it for bella,

not for me, and it’s so bittersweet

yet still I could not help myself

and a blossomed ironic quivering

smile collides against the pain—

fugacious, but for a moment

everything seemed quite normal

(but the moment of normalcy

was ruined by the knife biting

down distractedly on my flesh).

oh, your remedy and memory is

killing me slowly, worse than the

disease. we liked to run our blood

thin, but you divorced this addiction

and turned to singing, rivers calming

your tantrum storms, while I kept

relapsing to the blades that love to

feel, screaming in the showerhead

as scalding water pours and prepares

my temperature for inevitable hell.

i simply cannot help it, darling.

in this purgatory existence, there

are only momentary limbos of a

cumulonimbus paradise, before the

mocking angels snatch it away from

me, out of my reach; and make it rain

glass shards and wasteland debris

to maim my intravenous drugged veins

and they didn’t take you from me;

no, they goddamn dragged you halfway

around the fucking universe to keep

your gospel lips unattainable forever.

this ritual is only my blood sacrifice

to the merciless gods. understand that

this is only my way of returning you back

to the embrace of my lacerated arms that

You have yet to wrap yourself around in.

i’m so sorry this had to be the last resort.

i just want your company to burn me again.

i know that you won’t condone this blasphemy…

but you’re my heaven s.d., so don’t give me hell.

.

don’t let [REDACTED] go, don’t fucking throw [REDACTED] away.

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