I no longer accept compliments on being strong
You haven’t tried not giving me reasons to be.
With one careless hand, I screw up the paper
You wrote this worthless platitude on
Throw it in the waste-paper basket. It lands!
There. Now you can simply compliment me on my aim
There was a time I would have held onto it so hard it left a mark.
No, really, this knife in my side doesn’t hurt at all. I’m fine!
If the blood is bothering you, I can lick it up
Smile at you through reddened teeth.
As I die slowly from blood loss, I apologise for:
Being inattentive. Staining your best shirt. Wasting a good knife.
(Although I suspect you’ll use it again)
The last thing I see is a doe-eyed, fresh-faced mini-me.
I try to tell her how sorry I am that I couldn’t do better
Be better, do all the things she wanted
She holds out a small sweaty palm
Motions for me to come home.
Camille Elizabeth Lewis is a fledgling writer and avid reader who lives and learns with borderline personality disorder. She can be found indulging heavily in the life and works of Plath, and crossing off days on a calendar until the next instalment of the ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ series is released. Camille resides in South West England.