by Doriana Diaz
This paper is here for me so I don’t invade my skin with sharp edges
Hammer the nail down.
Bleed out on the bathroom carpet.
This is my teeth.
This is where I eat.
This paper is a reminder to let it all out. To uncover the darkness and leave it here for someone else to find.
This paper is moving on, passing the torch to another body with hands brave enough to spend sometime with their own demons.
This paper was here when I wrote suicide notes on my skin.
This paper was here when I fell to my knees in front of you, kissed the snowdrops and danced in meadows of marigolds.
This paper was here when I made it to the mountain top and found God only to realize she has been in me all along.