Better Blood

Better Blood

Walls closing in. Mind racing. Can’t think. What’s wrong with me? Make it go away. Just make it stop. Make it stop. No help. Never answers. Make it stop. Please, just make it stop. Screaming. Tears. Slowing down. I don’t care. Where’s a knife? Just do it. Blood. Again. Again. Again. No help. Never answers. Sick person. So sick.

~~~

“My child, is there something you want to tell me about?”

I cringed, wishing that I’d just heard any voice but His.

“What do you mean, Lord?” I asked, fully knowing what He was asking about but hoping to avoid confrontation.

He got more pointed, “There’s a knife in the kitchen sink. You didn’t do any cooking. …or are you stashing a steak somewhere that you don’t want to share with Me?”

“Don’t play with me,” I replied, not in the mood for banter, “We both know that you watched me do it.”

“Why, my child? Why did you do it?” He came closer and tried to take me into His arms, but I pulled out of His embrace and stepped back a few steps. “You didn’t have to. I love you. I died for you.”

“Better blood, God. I found better blood. Your’s didn’t work for me, so I’m tried mine.”

His steady gaze softened, “Did it work? Are you healed?”

“That’s not the point.”

Again, “Are you healed?”

“It felt good.”

I could see that it was breaking His heart. But I didn't care. I’m past caring. And it serves Him right anyways. He had His chance. And did He take it?

No help. Never answers. Make it stop… Please, just make it stop.

“Better blood. I’ve found better blood.” And I walked away.

~~~

Again. Again. Again. Again.
You coward. Can’t even cut right. Weak. Pathetic.
Sick. So very sick.


~~~


“Ironic, isn’t it?”

I turned towards my intruder.

“You’re seeking healing from self-injury. Doesn’t it strike you as conflicting?”

I don’t care. No help. Never answers.

“Better blood.” I turned away.

“You’ll kill yourself.”

I paused.

“Twice now. Eight stripes of “healing"…Or perhaps eight stripes of control? ...There will be more, you know. They will be deeper. And it won’t end there.”

“I can stop.”

“Can you?”

No help. Never answers.

“I can stop.”

~~~

Five days past. Four have faded. Pathetic.

…Satan? Is that you?

No help. Never answers.

Go away. I don’t need you either.

Pathetic…no help…never answers…

~~~

Blade in hand. Sick. So very sick.