someone once asked you
'when do you decide you're done?'
and you've been thinking about it
ever since.
you think about it every time you watch the paper towel
absorb everything you can't put into words.
as you gingerly wipe the blood from your fingertips
and shuffle around the room to find something else
to clean up with.
it runs through your mind when you sit there
heart beating slower and slower
as you still feel water fall from your eyelashes
you try to think of when
you're done.
you think it might be when you've run out of
tears to cry.
words to scream.
or worlds to burn.
it might be when you've run out of room
or something as crude as feeling better.
you could decide you're done at any time
but you keep plucking
keep striking
like somehow everything will be okay.
only it will
for a moment
until you wake up
and see the dried brown colour your skin.
you peel towel from skin
and watch as the scabs rip with it
watch as the fluid rises again
your fears with it
that you realise
maybe you're never done.
maybe you're just too tired
to keep going.
faggulicious Community Member 
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