I don’t notice it,

I don’t notice the feel of my fingers
over my eyes,
lips,
chin,
only to dip behind me
and dig into the skin there.

until it’s too late.

My excuse is that all my friends are short,
I can’t really hear,
I have light grey eyes

but I’ve spent a lifetime bending,
until something finally broke.
But I ignore the small cuts
as my fingertips dig into razor-burned skin
that I can’t spend too much time thinking about.

Because I do notice how close
the razor is.
I notice like I finally notice the pain.
The blinding, thought-seizing pain
that takes away all ability

And I yank
I pull and twist
crack and dig.

I dig

and dig

pop pills and pray
pray for absolution
pray for oblivion,
pray to cease.

but it’s still there,

and I can’t pick my head up.

can’t open my eyes.

so I grind my teeth
into some semblance of a smile,
so others don’t see.

see my life bent,
waiting for a guillotine.