Relapse: A Poem about Self-Harm

black and white painting of woman with furrowed bow and eyes closedThe remnants

were there all along-

wrapped inside my skull,

twined around every neuron.


In spring,

it awoke from its dormancy,

stretched its vines

to suffocate me further.


I’ll prune it back

and pull

what roots I can.

Maybe this time


I’ll get them before

late summer,

when the poison berries

are full,


bursting with

rotten propagation.

Waiting to sow the blight-



Next year,

I’ll be clean



Your brain



















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