i watch carefully as the fame emerges from the lighter.
i am not scared.
i don't put the flame directly on my skin, it's too soon.
instead, i let the shiny metal of the lighter heat as i make the flame dance around it.
i don't know how i sense that it's ready, but i do,
and as i bring the lighter to the inside of my wrist, i think of all the things that went wrong that day.
all the things that went wrong this week.
all the things that have gone wrong since i came into this world.
i don't regret it when the hot metal hits my skin, nor when i pull it off and push it onto my wrist deeper.
i let it sit there.
i sit there.
thinking.
breathing.
pushing myself.
feeling everything and nothing at the same time.
when i pull the lighter back, i can see my new wound.
i regret it for a small second, but i know in the end that i deserved the pain i was feeling.
so, i welcome the pain and with it, a million emotions of inferiority and sinking.
i try to recreate the feeling, but it's not right.
i'll try again tomorrow.
and the next day.
and the next day.
i will try until i become one with the flame.
