Running out of room

Till now I've been bluffing
always knew I was capable

there's a fresh scarlet sting
and I cant tell what's more comforting yet
the tiny gaps of red
or the movement of my wrist
as it pulls away

thigh lines trace the stretch marks I've always hated
there's reality
then this bloodier alteration I've made for myself here

I know I'll run out of room eventually
but then I know it's time to start a fresh

new canvas or new aim

part of me has already resolved
that if I run out of room
I've run out of time too
and the concreteness of my swelling
will only lead me to that place
where I can
and there is darkness
that won't judge me for being

and if I'm worthless
who cares

and what's the damage done
when there's none left to do.