it's covered with a sheath,
perhaps for safety,
but i leave that on the counter.

me and him, we have a routine
he's always in the drawer
and i'm always reaching for him.

i pop open the bandaid box
stick a few in my pockets
make sure everyone is sound asleep
then take refuge in the bathroom.

it's a dull pain,
each swing and pull makes pain shoot up my leg
but it feels nice.
even though i know i should stop
something's pulling me in.

there's blood on the knife,
on the toilet paper
on my hands, under my nails
i can barely see the first cut.

sometimes, i wish i could do this forever.