Holding the knife as I lick the blade. I think it is sharp enough. I slice a piece of paper and listen to the sound with my eyes closed. I rub the cool steel blade along my wrist. I look as the veins pulse. I wonder how long it hurts, I wonder how the flowing blood feels. I am not sure if I will do it just yet. I am still undecided. Each day I sharpen the blade, each day I contemplate make the cut. I only know that if I decide to do it, I will cut it long ways.