| I take my blade, ever so sharp, from the drawer that conceals it. I slowely roll my shirt sleeve up, all the while, anticipation builds within me. I take the blade and run it over my soft, white flesh, feeling the pain, watching the crimson blood flow over the paleness of my flesh. Concentrating on what I am doing, dulling out the pain of my soul, concentrating on the physical pain. Wishing it would all just go away, just to leave me alone. I set the blade down on the table beside me, not bothering to wipe it clean. Concentrating on the blood that flows from the wound, I smile, as though everything goes away; feeling the pain within me drift away for another day. Being thankful for the blood and the blade. |
