Sometimes its not people who are the enemy. Its yourself. When your all alone, sitting in front of that mirror. Its not your classmates who pick out your flaws. Its not your friends voice you hear whispering in your ear saying your too fat, to weak, to ugly, not enough. Never enough.
The words slither around you like a python. Slowly suffocating you until you just can't take it anymore. You grab the razor. This will make it stop. One slash. Not too deep. A warning strike. Just to make the voice hush. It doesn't work.
Pathetic it hisses. A wimp. Can't even properly cut yourself. A seconds slash, a little deeper. The blood slowly trickles down your arms. You can feel every pulse of your heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. The adrenaline starts to take effect. Your in control now. You sure taught yourself a lesson didn't you. Now it will stop Right? Wrong.
A third slice. The bloods starting to flow more freely. You just stare at it. Transfixed. You can't feel the sting anymore. Just a distant throbbing but you pay it no mind. The voice has stopped. You stopped it! You feel powerful. Proud even. A fourth slice. You feel a giggle creeping up your throat. The bloods just so pretty. The way it flows, feels. Its amazing, exhilarating.
Fifth slice. You watch the peach of your skin break open so precisely, then as the blood seeps out. Tainting it. A masterpiece. The voice is back tinged with worry. Should you stop? What if you lose too much? You slice. This lines not so clean. You panicked. Its wrong. Ugly...like you. Your hands are shaky but you slice. Can't even make a clean cut. You slice, starting to lose count. Again. Again. And again.
The tears are blurring your vision. You can't think, just slice. If you keep slicing will the demons be quiet? Your feeling light headed but still you slice. You can't see the peach through the blood and tears. So much blood. So gorgeous. You throw the razor down before clamping your hands over your ears. The ringing has started. Its so loud. Its consuming your every thought. You can't do this anymore. Your shivering body's being racked with sobs. You crawl over and start the bath water before leaning against the porcelain tub. The mirror starts to fog up but that's a good thing. You won't have to look at the mess you've become.
The adrenaline has worn off. The pains becoming intense. Your slashes twinge as you lower yourself into the scalding water. Wincing you start cleaning yourself off. As the water turns pink you can start to see the damage you've done. Shame swirls around your stomach like a vice. Its hideous. What have you done? Its back. Faint but there. Robotically you get out. Dry yourself off. Cover the wounds. Only you can ever see them. You store the razor back into it's special place, knowing it'll be there for you when you need it. You even named it, Old Reliable. Funny how the one thing you trust most in the worlds inanimate. Now starts the slow and painstaking process of getting yourself together. Can't have your parents worrying. Your fine. You don't need help. You have this under control. No reason to concern anyone. Your okay. You mumble that over and over until you the words have no meaning anymore but still you mumble. Everything's back to how it was. You check the time. Parents should be home soon. A smile slowly appears on your face. Knowing how later you'll laugh and goof off with them and they'll never know. They never do. Glancing into the mirror you whisper one last time that your okay as a single tear trickles down your cheek. Right before you leave and close the door you promise old reliable you'll be back. Don't worry. The door shuts with a soft click. Locking your secret in with it.
