Truth

Oh juicy veins, how I would love to sink my blade in you. How I want so badly to feel the cold steel against my warm skin, to feel the sharp sting cut after cut. How I long to watch the deep crimson blood flow freely from my wounds. Drip, drip, dripping until all the pain has flowed out and I'm left with nothing but sweet bliss. How I dream about floating on my personal cloud of dissociation where nothing is real up here, nothing matters. All that is important is that I feel nothing, remember nothing, and just breathe. Free of worries, free of cares is what I long to be. But I know this is all a fantasy. No matter how much I want and long and dream, I know I can't go back to the razor. I hear it calling and it pains me that I must reject my good friend, but I can't be that person anymore. I can't be the monster that likes to slice up her body. I can't be that girl, the “emo” girl with scars lining her body as if they're trophies on display. The girl who lies to everyone she's ever cared about to keep her unhealthy taboos a secret. For if I have to be her for one more second, I don't know if I'll ever be able to discover who I really could be. Who I really am.