She opens the bathroom cabinet
  to find a little black box
in the corner of the highest shelf.

Too many times had she taken this box,
and its contents inside,
and repeatedly painted
red streaks across her wrists.
And forearms.
And thighs.
And stomach.
And hips.

As she opens the box,
a sense of adrenaline is sent
pumping through her body
at the sight of her razor.

The blade was sharp enough
to where just pressing her finger against it
lightly
sent bubbles of red
from the point of contact.

The sensation of pain
gave her goosebumps and butterflies.
It sent flutters through her chest,
made her head feel light,
and her eyelids heavy.

The way normal girls felt about boys,
she felt about a slither of metal.
But this was more than a simple crush;
It was a love affair.

And she was definitely in love.
Not with the razor though;
the way it made her feel.

The simple love of a feeling
had turned to something more.
It was an obsession.
An addiction at it's worse.
And the most terrifying part was that
she couldn't even remember
when she had lost herself.