I promised I'd never do it again. I promised I'd never do anything to cause myself harm. I had one last blade. One last blade hidden deep within my drawer. I find it and sit in the dark. I open the blade and feel it's coldness on my skin. It's dull. It's been used a lot in the past. There's still blood stained on it. I don't care how dull it is, I stick it in my wrist slowly feeling the cold, slick blade mix with my warm blood. It hurts because it's dull, it hurts because I'm breaking a promise. It hurts because I don't remember why I'm doing it. It hurts because I know you could've.... because I know you would've stopped me.
