I tried to hurt myself using you weaponizing you turning your care ballistic and my softness into weak armor i tried to use the hollows of your lower back as landmines your words as small sharp blades that fit into old razors and broke in twos your lips as quagmire meant for drowning i used your attraction as fission a devastating proxy for the surplus destructive energy in my own mind when your love was not enough i used your presence as war horns alerting formations of my hearts cavalry into attacking your defenseless desire your scattered battalions that were only looking for me when I waged this war, i even used your indifference to hurt me a blunt injury sustained under my very living skin a slow passage of bloodclots into a series of hurtful colors why? why do we cut ourselves?
Mostly I brush life off my shoulder when it falls gently from a tree, or when it grows from my shirt like lint. Mostly i sigh it away like a laugh from an unfounded joke or a waft of extra air in speech. Except sometimes.