shame

a million baths won’t wash away
the muck of hatred over the soul

cuts from a blade to skin the arms
or strangulate the neck to end the shame

instinct to survive makes the body jerk back
to the miserable life that was a blessing
n i've made it a curse, say the spiders

more reasons to call one a failure
a failure who couldn’t end life

a living corpse on the bed
inanimate eyes looking at clock
that’s indifferent or happy
clean of shame

no spiders eat its frame
and stitch a web of hatred around

a wicked grin at the mind going crazy
a gentle hand holds the blade
places against the arm, above the earlier scars
searching for a vein this time

glad I didn’t fail
one swipe and its over
blood flows, such beauty over the arm
the spiders are still there
but fade as the vision blurs