I am learning how not to cry,

To swallow my tears and feel them shatter on the way down.

I press a blade against my skin,

Watch as it carves away to the bone cage.

I realize that it is my blood that is dirty,

My soul that is stained.

I will bleed to death and still never know what it means to be clean.

I will be stuck between these bloody sheets forever,

Dirty and heavy.

They stick to the inside of my mouth each time that I take a gasping breath,

A reminder to hope that one day I will grow light enough for the cracked sky to carry me –

That one day I will forget what it means to be stuck, and how that can grow into the same thing as being lost.