Slice

Interviewer: So what do you use, is it hard to choose?

Girl: I use whatever I can find. As long as the emotional pain has left my mind.

Interviewer: Can you name a few, three would do.

Girl: Well, the plastic cover of a razor, that one I do favor. The blade of a cooking knife, the one that nearly had taken my life. And my own nails, it never fails.

Interviewer: Would you tell us the last time you used each? I understand it must be a sensative subject to teach.

Girl: No, it is quite easy, but for some the sight of blood makes them queesy. I will tell about my encounters with the blade cover, the knife, and my very own hand.

I get upset pretty fast, wether I think too much or someone put me down, my happiness does not last. One day I had gotten into an argument with a loved one. He shouted at me, if we are not to wed and you give me no son, what are we doing, who are we fooling. And with that my darkness grew, the inside of my cheek bled as on it I started to chew. I grabbed my things, and head to the shower. Those words held great strength such power. I cried and cried, how hard I tried and tried. I broke down, in my tears about to drown. I saw the little plastic cover, I chewed it till it was rough and jagged. And along my skin I let it drag. It was not a slice, but more of a tare. I scraped and scraped till the meat was bare. I felt better, but hours later the exposed layer of pink was starting to burn. I kept that burn until it healed.

I know how to cook, never really needed to look at a book. I'm always left with the knives. Well they never appreciate my effort, they always put me down, yes it hurt. Anyways, the knife was there glistening. I told my hands no but they werent listening. The sharp blade slice through my wrist. I dug in the tip and gave it a twist. the blood poured out, like from a water spout. I wrapped a towel around my wound and hid in my room, I layed in my bed, my comfy tomb.

Ah natures weapons, nails. It never fails. I always use then when I'm stressed, or just really depressed. Sometime they leave scars and sometimes they can leave a scab. But its better to scratch than to stab. I let them grow long and let them glide across my skin. And thats where the relief can begin.

That first slice it kills the pain. It numbs the thoughts running through your brain. People just don't understand the power, the feeling that you have with that blade in your hand. You'll be labeled a freak, but you'll be to tough to let tears leak. Its just something I go through. Especially when I feel as if I have no one to talk to. I haven't stopped, just pushed away the urge. Waiting for the next bit of sadness to surge.