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WARNING: This is a very sensitive, even volatile, subject. If you want to respond, please do so when your rational mind is engaged. Step away,

  I traced your inked skin with my fingers, studied the history of your hell, plucked the piercings that recreated your pain, that displayed your

One time, I thought I was clinically depressed and my mother cajoled me into driving an hour to her house. I hadn’t showered for several

I dreamed your blood-stained flesh, a wound of Promethean Shame. The scythe of Janus haunted your days. Dressed only in the skin granted by the

  Take up the Grail, my Love, and drink. A creature of stardust and broken glass, You crawled under my skin. You braved the labyrinth

  I am mentally ill. That’s the official diagnosis. It’s a genetic predisposition and can’t be “cured” because the medical community is still researching the