tell me how many, because i know you know.

That time we drank beyond reason (one of many) and I slit my wrist with our longest, sharpest kitchen knife. (the knife I would never again be able to look at without nausea creeping in.)
The first slice left merely a small cut (like a cat scratch), unsatisfied I went for the 2nd slice…and severed all the layers of skin. I could see my shiny white tendon flexing in the opening in my arm.
I was so angry, but so drunk I took a photo before you drove me to the hospital.
I look at it sometimes….just for a little perspective.

But that time…
Maybe I wish that I had died.

That maybe then and there would have been the end. The end of my selfishness with one final selfish act.

Slice.

Slice.

I look at the scar from time to time. Compare it to the photo of exposed tendons.
I know what’s under there.
….
The only part of inside myself that I’m familiar with.

That scar looks like a jagged white worm, trying to emerge up to the surface of my skin.

I think of those stitches we removed ourselves in our kitchen....i wish i could remember how many.
I think of the hospital bills I’m still paying off, the jagged worm, and that damn photo…
And I realize that’s all I have left from that mess.
…maybe also the memory of leaving the hospital…feeling defeated and ashamed.
…maybe driving to perkins for breakfast…or lunch at that point, and bursting into tears as crossed the bridge and drove over the river.
….maybe going home and crying and sleeping like babies or lovers…it was unclear.
The only things clear to me now is how incredibly insane I must really be.

Pine trees and bird calls.