His ribs stick out from his too pale skin and he draws his knees to his chest, huddled in the bathroom.

He sees himself in the mirror- naked, shrunken, his skin stretched tightly across his bones, his eyes wide and panicked.

He is grotesquely beautiful.

He runs his newly painted black nails across his too white skin and smiles slowly, his lips cracked and bleeding, his teeth too shiny in the darkness.

He wants the blood running down his skin, he wants to see what he looks like underneath it all, wants to open a cut big enough for him to crawl inside and hide from the world that is too far away and so close it suffocates him and altogether his, his world, his life, his horribly chapped life.

He wants to become just another suicide statistic, just another depressed anorexic junkie pop star, cutting deeper and deeper trying to find himself until the bathtub fills with his blood and his corpse is left behind coated in graffiti, cold and lifeless and whiter then he is now and he wants the blue around his lips he wants his skin stained red red red with blood.

He watches the blood drip down his chest, hot sticky sliding down his freezing skin, oozing past his jutting hip bones falling to the bathtub bottom.

He makes miniscule cuts he is an artist he is the canvas the blood is his paint and he smears it across his skin. It reminds him of when he was a kid and finger-painted on thick white paper.

He is beauty and his neon eyes are fixed on his stark body and he loves it, he wants the scarlet substance to drown him, drench him wants to empty everything then inhale it all again.

He wants to drink in himself, wants to lick the blood from his wounds, wants to know if he tastes like heroin candy or salty sweet hot thick sinking into his tongue.

The smell of blood is overpowering even though he hasn’t made many cuts- ten? Fifteen? He loses count so easily. It doesn’t even matter.

He wants to cut down to the bone, wants to see what he looks like bared and naked and blood pouring out of everywhere, everywhere wants to make everything empty to match the void inside him wants to find that void.

He’s coated in black in the darkness thinks that blood would look almost black on snow wants to lie crumpled on the pavement but knows he can’t.

He wants to mutilate himself, wants to kill the beauty that is his pain and his emptiness the beauty that is him, that is his poisonous glittering flowery cocaine world.

He wants the world to see him disfigured, stained, destroyed he wants them to see the real him the real pop star he wants his soul to be bared for the whole fucking world to see he wants them to know that this is him him him he wants them to understand.

He wants them to see him naked and real he wants the world to see his broken acid-stained anorexic beauty.

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