The urge to cut grows stronger by the minute.
I don't think I can do this,
and that makes me pathetic.

My mind searches
for other methods to punish myself.
If I can't bleed;
I'll starve myself,
and replace my meals with iced latte's
or eat so much
that it hurts to breath and walk.

My hands start to shake
as I lock them together.
"Don't do it."
I ignore the voice,
and raid my moms bathroom
looking for a razor.

"Aha!"
I found one.
It's old and rusty
but she'll get the job done.

I take a long pause;
I am 24 days clean.
The hesitation lasts a lifetime,
but I set the razor down.

That was one more day.
One more day that I didn't fall for the urge.
Will the fight always be this hard.
I guess I'll wait and find out.