It calls out to me
Sitting in my other hand
Urging me to use it
An upturned wrist
Lays on my leg
Veins traceable
All to be sliced
The vision of blood
Seeping down my arm
Throws chills through my body
I want to use it
To trace delicate lines
All over my clean skin
The cold metal heavy in my hand
A comfortable weight
Its sharp edge gleams in the light
Begging to be used
To be coated in my sticky red blood
Feeling a razor sinking through my skin
The immense pressure then release
Pure pleasure in my mind
Despite the pleasure that I yearn for
Slowly I roll my sleeve
Over my wrists white flesh
My clenched hand relaxes
The sharp razor slides out
Falling to the ground
I turn my back
And slowly walk away
Holding my breath and not looking back