A thought,
or word.
The look someone gives me,
a glance if that.
And it begins.
That thing sticks,
and I can't think.
I twist,
and itch,
a scratch,
at the back of my brain.
Makes me think,
of ways to hurt.
And if I don't listen,
then I hurt inside,
and it burns my heart.
By the time I take the blade,
I'm shaking and sweating,
wanting to vomit,
heart beating,
hyperventilating.
Rolling up my sleeves,
clamy hands,
twitching skin.
At the moment of the cut,
the wound,
I am overwhelmed in emotion,
over and over until I feel nothing.
I feel better,
blood running down.
A smile forms,
tension gone,
let's watch.
Blood,
blood,
bleeding,
done,
I'm okay now.
Until the next time,
sincere goodbye,
old friend.
This is my fucking addiction,
I can't stop,
but maybe it's time to try.
