Bleeding

Gathering up the courage to make that first cut
Knowing it will hurt, but only for a moment
Soon enough that bitter sweet endorphin rush
Makes everything okay again

One hand clenched in a tight fist
The other holding on to the blade - as if it were a life source.

I guess in some ways it is.
Shaking, sweating.
Breathing heavily as the blade cuts into already scarred skin.
At first there’s only white, then red starts showing, flooding, flowing, coming in fast.
It’s almost mesmerizing; it starts rushing faster, running down your arm, your fingers and the blade are dripping red. Blood. Red. More red. A few drops land on your shirt.

And now you’re rushing, trying to catch it before it hits the floor. You’re too slow.

It’s more than blood
It’s a way to numb yourself, to make your head silent; it sets everything back in its place in just the right way. There’s a catch.

Here’s the catch: it’s only for a short while. Soon enough the thoughts will get loud again, following you wherever you go. And in your happiest moments you’ll think you’re strong, that you’ll never succumb to the need again. But you’re wrong; they’ll keep hunting you until you give in, until your previously smooth skin is covered in bumps and lines. Scars. That will fade, turn from an angry red to an eery white but never completely disappear.

So. What’s a few more?
It’s not worth it

Gather up the courage to make that first cut, you’re

feeling like you’re about to

SCREAM
don’t scream

Now your fingers are dripping with blood
See what you’ve done

and as the crisp white bandage is being stained red

A smile plays on your lips, at last, silence.
I thought we were done with this.