mum

youll find me on a friday morning, regret bleeding out of my wrists as i lay contorted on the floor. youll smell the galliano on my breath and realise i turned out just like you. the cd finished playing but the stereo machine is still on, and the whirr sound is deafening in a room so still. i dont remember the album, but the last six minutes i had, i remembered the glimpse of sympathy in your eyes that was ultimately shrouded by hatred when i exposed myself to prove i was hurting. youll sit on the floor and hold my limp left hand, noticing every detail for the first time. the way my middle finger is stained green from the copper rings i wear every day, the spider bite on the base of my index finger, my briskly painted nails, the freckle between my pinky and ring finger. youll hold my lifeless fingers and maybe the sympathy will roll down your cheeks and finally reach me, but ill never feel it. youll see my room as a museum of everything i have ever loved. the bands you showed me that i kept cds of, the photos of my best friend on the wall, the little trinkets you gave me as an apology scattered around my room. youll see things youve never seen before. the drawing of my body, the cartoon of me and my friend. youll feel swallowed and look over me. the kisses adorning my boney wrist lead you to look for more love. youll find the deepest love i held on my thighs. hickeys are etched into my flesh and you know who gave them to me. the heart becomes weighted and weak, and cannot get back up again. my artwork of love, hate, fear, anger, pain becomes real and not just a sketch anymore. my body is to be hung in an art gallery with my nerves and brain strung and pinned out on a corkboard to see the complexities and thought behind my work. ill become your favourite artist, and youll wish i wasnt smart enough to create. youll hold my light, heavily weighted body and weep and the sympathy bleeding from your eyes wont be enough to wash off the red lipstick that love kissed on my veins.