Bad Poetry

Sharp Vision

I see things out of the corner of my eye

The outline of a person who’s not really there

And my stomach twists

When I see my own blood spilling down my legs

I see shiny things out of the corner of my eye

My peripheral vision always catching the glint of sharpness

Sometimes I wish for it

To blind me so that my fingers don’t twitch anymore

But even when I close my eyes

My fingers still twitch

I still see things 

A person with dark eyes and canine teeth

The blood still spilling down my legs

Blades of a tape dispenser

Broken glass

A metal tab from a can of soda

The head of a razor

Bobby pins

Lighters

I see things out of the corner of my eye

Fifteen-year-old

Ghost objects 

Still beckoning me,

Still haunting me