I had gotten the razor to touch just one inch of my wrist and that was it, that was it.
It's like when I had slid the silver, sharp object over my once clean wrist I just hadn't thought.
At first the pain was unbearable, I shook, I winced. After the third cut I found myself wanting more, not wanting to stop. The blood made me content, I took a napkin and wiped it off; staring at the beautiful color for such long.
Today I had realized it wasn't me, I wasn't me. I'm possessed. The raven or black hawk I've been seeing is my dark. I realized, fuck I'm probably not gonna make it out alive.
