they say the only way to lose these bracelets is to cut them off.
so carefully we braided them with beads around our wrists,
laughing at the marks they left on our skin.
in a few showers, they began to thread away.
if they were drinking glasses, they would be chipped--useless.
in fear of seeing my pale wrist exposed,
and the scars underneath unearthed,
i tried to keep these tokens of times better forgotten together.
but really, i should let them fall,
sliding off my wrist like unwanted clothes [so often in the dark].
gravity pulls them close to her chest,
beckoning these trivial pieces fall, damn you.
and i fought.
beyond my better judgement.
i left my goddamn house, smoked a few, gave several peoples calls,
only to realize that they were not the problem.
i am the problem.
because i dont make you happy anymore.
i dont clean my room.
i dont brush my hair.
i dont do my homework.
without a sound,
i will slip away.
no more bracelets will be chained to my wrists.