By Brooklyn Saliba
“scissors scatter
the ground
after falling
from between
my fingertips
after i dance
their blades
across my wrist
once, twice
sometimes more
secreting
crimson stains
dripping down
my arm
in a bashful bleed
only when i
feel the keening
press of steel
cutting into
my skin
can i feel
the stinging
suppressed urge
to heal
scissors scatter
the ground
after i press
them in their
platinum hues
against my chest
using delicate
duress to
make myself bleed
i only wish
people could
understand
it's a need
for when i
salaciously slice
my sins away
split skin
stitching
secreting decay
scissors scatter
themselves to
the ground
in a cascading
crescendo
the marks on
my skin
my momento.”