Practice

Crimson tears

He sat there in that same dark room, and took out that familiar blade as he had done so many times before. Although the night surrounded him in darkness, a single sliver of moonlight reflected of the metal, but he just sat there, silent, wondering if tonight would be the night. Though to the many nights he had sat there for hours before and how he never found the courage to actually do it. Slowly, he put the knife on his wrist and sat there completely silent. He closed his eyes. One. Two. Three. Nothing happened. He opened his eyes to see the knife peacefully resting on his forearm. All of a sudden he jerked the knife across his arm. At first nothing happened, then the blood started to bead up and tears fell from his eyes as he recounted every reason he made that cut. Blood mixed with tears as each drop fell one by one onto his bare feet as his sadness dripped away. Soon the wound started to heal, but the pain he felt inside still resided in his soul, so he wept away every last drop of blood until he lost it all.

"You know what the worst part about cutting is? The scars heal faster than the wounds."- Anonymous

(No this is not a personal story. I have not nor will I ever cut my wrists)