That could've been a ferris wheel

My side split open. Cut from the skin over my ribs down to the bones of my hips. Pinching and stinging, a serrated graze. My bones are stripped down to a pale, bare white. My eyes caved deep down under the darkness that has me undone. I am destroying, I say. Ghouls inside me and electric wires tangling my veins. My nerves containing the screams of sharp, thin, and silvery miseries. Squared under me, I should be free, I say. I'd rather have my throat raw. I light and swallow a fire, the ash of a blackened night and I'll smile because I like to seem blissfully unaware, ignorant, and hardly awake. Hardly alive. Hardly afraid. Split open to the side and a stretch to make me bleed through the memory of a green shirt and a pathetic, beating heart. With out that sugary scent, that soft scent, or even my own scent, I remain scarred and cut. Carved words onto my arms in a language I don't speak. I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze to let the red line at my side flourish into gushing and gleaming crimsons. I wrap myself tighter, and tighter, and tighter... And tighter...