blood and confessions

the words escape my lips,
and, less than poetic,
hit their mark with a tear-stained glare.
beneath the surface of this scream
the blood, the sweat, the broken teeth;
there's nothing picture-perfect,
nothing to love,
only life beating through empty veins.
this image in my head is distant,
is wrong;
this rush of love from a weeping wound,
and though you tell me this is pain
... i only half believe you.
these scars have become
a source of pride and shame,
a pathetic transparency i meant to hide behind.
and here is this inescapable addiction,
baring its razor-sharp claws to perfect skin
and this little girl spends all her energy
fighting demons twice her size.
... i do this all alone.