I want to cut.
I yearn to smell that metallic scent of blood.
Feel smooth crimson droplets roll down my wrists.
Watch them fall to the floor, into a puddle.
Into the puddle diluted with my salty tears.
Weakling. Can't you even take this much pain?
Biting on my lip,
I press the razor down even more,
still crying.
The blood flow increases to an ooze.
A thin stream of blood flowing down my pale wrists.
I feel free, I feel like I'm in control. Only I can hurt myself.
LIES
I'll never be the only one to hurt myself.
Other people still will.
I no longer want to stick around to get hurt.
I want to move on the other side,
to whatever may be waiting for me.
It would only be too easy
I want to sink into oblivion.
One day I will.
*That day is today