The cold metal winks at me from across the room. The candles flicker and dust coats the soft fresh skin of my thigh. It's been far too long. Sometimes these four walls become my only friends. Sometimes I think about murder,bodies; preferably MY dead body- slumped on the floor in a pool if blood, a smile spread across my lips. Was the cold metal winking at you from across the room? I know it's all in my head, but sometimes they talk to me; my blades, they tell me "it's okay, everything is going to be okay."
