After Cutting

RazorbladeAfter cutting

The blood came in droplets,
needle-point pin pricks,
meeting like magnetic balls
and dripping.

The relief was like candyfloss,
sugar melting on my tongue,
delicious, momentary,
there, gone.

It wasn’t a surprise
when you said nothing,
kept your tongue still
and swollen.

It lolled in your head
while fabric stuck to my raw
flesh, hot pink layers
peeling, flaking.

And now heat radiates
from broken patches –
Can’t you feel my shame
touch you.

The smug licking flame
of exposed flesh, scratched
raw with a fingernail,
now irritates.

An abstract pattern drawn
by a shaking hand, a steady
blade, leaves me sliced
like beef, carved, cold.