Read at 1:23 A.M.

Here’s a secret, my mouth will fill with blood from my own attempts at self destruction, hold back my hair while I spit it out.

Here’s a secret, I’m not responsible for the cramp in my fingers, they clench in to lonely white sheets and carpal tunnel infects my knuckles because of the way I scratch at the walls your voice bounces off of.

Here’s a secret, sometimes the beds of my fingernails bleed when I rip open the seams of my own neck, the blood more like spools of wool then a bodily liquid.

Heres’s a secret, use a rag dipped in bleach to scrub out the mud marks on the floor. You’ll say that’s over-kill and I’ll agree, but I’ll still get down on my hands and knees to do it anyway.

Here’s a secret, open your window at night and listen to the cool wind rattle against the frame. The chirps of birds seems to be the only thing that can get me out of bed in the morning. Their noises clog up my head until I can’t take it anymore, until I pull myself up by my eyelids to slam down the screen.

Here’s the secret, when you look at me it’s like I’m a satellite, I feel like I’m just floating in your orbit. I feel like if I break down they’ll just leave me there to drift off in to space. I feel like when I’m watching your back as you walk away I’m becoming a sentence. I’m becoming an afterward or a footnote. You tell me I have worry lines in my hands, you tell me the reason I crack my knuckles is because if I didn’t the only other use would be for violence.

Here’s the secret, when I stare at your face late at night, I don’t know what your thinking and it terrifies me. Hold the rope that’s tied to my wrist until you get tired of it, until you want to cut it with scissors instead of just letting go. Don’t do either, instead tie the other end to my ankle so each time I fall you can say I did this to myself.

Here’s the truth, you don’t need to lie to me or make me feel better. Just hold my hand. Hold my hair back.