The first cut shallow and pained
Slicing the skin on my wrist in two
Deep red emerges in a thin line
The next cut, deeper with more emotion
The tears that started two hours before
Continue to ebb and flow
Leaving tracks of mascara smearing as I wipe the stain away
The next cut breaks deeper
The skin on my back and arms raise as gooseflesh
Maybe a moan maybe a cry seeps from my teeth
A hot trickle of blood rains from the cut
Pouring down into the empty hole of the sink
A sting of water wakes me from the trance as I stare at the razor which blemished my skin

I keep telling myself, one more, one more, one more...
And walking away from the bathroom and the blood
To find myself wandering in again to clutch the razor and bring it to my skin