The blade glistens in the bright moonlight
As I sit in my tent in the woods
Alone.

Through my boredom a wandering raccoon comes along
A desire
A thought
An urge

I shrug it off for now,
tossing the blade from hand to hand
The raccoon grows louder
Tying me down in my own mind

All that I’m thinking of is the blade,
My skin
And the crimson red hiding behind
It wouldn’t take much to reach it
It wants the crimson.

The blade is sharp
Waiting
Begging
The thoughts drown out all common sense

Until the blade is on my wrist
Resting
Apply some pressure
I feel it
A tingling through my arm
As I drag the blade across my skin
Crimson red pouring out
The raccoon is euphoric.

The pain overpowers those thoughts
Quiets the din of the raccoons
But my friend,
Pain is only a temporary experience.
They come back.
Wild raccoons given a taste of power
Coming back.

They louden
I give in
They quiet down
Rinse
Repeat.

Parallel lines down my left arm
Out of room
Try my other arm
The blade’s easy to hold in my numb left arm
As I mirror the cuts over to the right

I’ve given it all that I could.
Yet it comes back again
It wants more
It wants more

I give it more
They're are satisfied for now
Toss on a long-sleeved shirt
Long jeans.
Nobody’ll be able to tell
Of the things that I’ve done
for a raccoon

Until it asks for more.