A Scar and a Drink

The guards are gone, The nurses are gone, The doctors are gone, The other patients.... gone. Suddenly filled with a sense of urgency, A need to find something, Anything at all That could cut. Removing my mouth guard, Undoing the head restraint, Preparing for what I must have, For what I will have. In the drawers I search, Throwing papers across the room. Through the closet I rumage, Clothes all across the floor. Under the mattress I scramble, Perhaps a broken spring. Quick to shut the door, Lock it with the invisable latch. Into the bathroom I run, Slipping on remaining water. Through the bag, Through the barrell, Through the medicine cabinet. At long last!! The toothpaste. Unrolling the very end, of an aluminum tube. Mouthwash to rub all over the forearm, A cup underneath to catch the spilled blood, The new blade positioned, To slice up and down. Starting slowly, From the base of the wrist. Working my way ever so slowly up, Perhaps five inches. The return slice, Heading back down, Five times as painfull, Ten times as wonderful. Three minutes till they all return. Slicing once more, Licking the blade, And storing it away under the sink. Taking the blood, Smelling the sweet scent, Feeling the warmth, My stomach all aflutter. No time to waste, No time to enjoy, Downing the blood, Savoring as much as possible. Wrapping the cut in a towel, Opening the door back up, Running under the blanket, Pretending to be asleep. The nurse comes by, Does she suspect anything? She leaves, She knows nothing. Unwrapping my towel, Adjusting my position, Placing my teeth over the wound, Drinking deeply. Tomorrow they will punish me, Drugs, Restraints, Personal Guards, More restrictions. But I don't care, I will be rejuvinated, I will have the strength, The power to fight them. A scar and a drink, What could be better. Written March 13th, 2002 © on Mar 13 2002 11:33 AM PST   18 • 0 • 10