11.01.2023 I

11.01.2023 I

Suspiciously, slightly less suicidal this morning

Though I've learned to mistrust this absence of drive

That old and comforting, familiar friend; I've known her since I was eight: the first time 

I opened my wrists on that rust pitted blade broken 

Off from a red, plastic pencil sharpener. 

She's kept me company through my darkest epochs, some lasting days or weeks, or years. Even decades. 

She's only ever an aching palm away 

Close as my own fingerprints.

Maybe she's just gone out for groceries. 

Maybe she's off on holiday.  She rarely says when she's leaving or 

For how long she'll be away

However, kind friend that she is, she knows just how to anticipate my need for her; something

Happens and Bang! she's right beside me once again.