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We, The Nameless

We
the addicted,
the wounded,
the silent,
the scarred,
the afraid,
the alienated,
the lonely,
the angry,
the wronged,
the betrayed,
the muted,
the blank,
the bloody.

We
reach for the blade,
reach for the knife,
reach for the occasional sharp edge,
to slit and tear beautiful blue veins,
to put on those coveted bracelets,
red, dripping,
a sign of such beautiful release,
more precious than any gold or jewel.

We
make the skin spilt,
make the skin sting,
make the skin gape,
make the skin bloom red,
pain-numbing sting,
blank mind,
expressionless face,
tears dried,
salt trails on motionless cheeks,
such a release sets free all thought,
sick, sorrowful meditation
such a release so that you can hang on,
refocus,
and go on,
problems buried in fractured subconscience,
for the time being....
until the clock hits midnight
and the sharp is your only best friend again.

Simplicity and scarceness of thought
as we're heeding and feeding the addiction,
the slow and silent
beautiful crimson addiction.

We,
the nameless ones.....