A blood donor clinic.

The smell of all the blood in the air makes me sick.
It brings me back to the time,
where blood flowed freely down my arms;
when blood stained the wristbands that I wore,
to try to hide my pain from the rest of the world,
because I told myself I would never be as stupid as any of them.

But I was.

The smell makes me so dizzy,
the floor comes up to swallow me whole,
but I have the common sense to run.

Far away.

I run to the bathroom,
and all I can feel is the shuddering of my body
as I'm huddled in a corner;
being bombarded by images of a darker time;
images of my Crimson Decision.

I will never forget that day.
I thought I was going to give up on everything,
because everything had given up on me.
I'm glad it didn't turn out that way,
I'm glad I had the common sense to stop.

There's no way I'm letting the world have the satisfaction of seeing me like this.

But every once in a while,
I fall back into my crimson state;
where my body shudders and shakes,
and my mind falls inwards,
dragging my feelings to one central point,
where hell is begging for my soul.

A blood donor clinic.

The smell of all the blood in the air makes me sick.
I could bleed you a pint faster than that puny needle could get,
but I have the common sense,
to re-think my Crimson Decision.