Headrush And Steak Knives Poem by Ana Podarevska

headrush full of glutteral yells
steak knives find their way to my hands.
gripped so tight, my knuckles turn white.
i can't stop the stabbing until you take a bite.

i'll fill your bathtub with my screams
to drown myself in self-esteem.
you'll beat yourself with what has been,
so cruel and unlike what it seemed.

peel off your edges like a mask
and i'll swallow your remains.
it's not like you have never thought
to engulf and feed off of the stains.

nothing comes so clean as that
laying in the steaming gutters.
nights so hot as hell with skin
tearing as i let you in.

hear me scream and wish for more time
to make me plead through hopeful cries
that this will be the night you die,
the night you kill my suicide.