I hold the blade to my brow,
tapping it in thought and thinking of the irony of it all.
How did it come to pass,
that we should meet here now?
Between yesterday and tomorrow,
the hours we met so many times before.
You think I’m crazy,
you whisper it over and over again.
Your hands are tucked under your chin,
they had been since you saw me.
You said you didn’t know who I was,
because I was a child when you saw me last.
Truth be told, this is progress.
Last week I didn’t know who I was anymore.
People kept talking about me as though I was already dead.
I had the blade turned towards myself.
I was feverishly looking for some sign of life.
I was looking for some hint of humanity.
Because that night it was me and a knife,
I was trying to save me from myself,
because no one was able to get through.
Now I look in the palm of my hand,
and see I have the control now.
“So what shall we do tonight?”
The other day I came across a picture of me,
the way I was once upon a time.
I was smiling and holding a bunch of flowers.
No one would recognize her anymore,
I know her as a stranger on the street.
I know her as the screaming in my head.
You should have been sent to prison for murder,