Copyright, Annette

My weapon against the world around me. Something to hide me from the hurt and the pain. But where is it now when I need it most? Here I am, wanting to see the red so badly, but I can’t. I have to deal with the hurt myself. I long for it. The touch of the metal brushing against my skin. To feel the warmth grow inside me as I push deeper and deeper. Watching it spill out, red on my pale skin. The rows of lines, symmetric, organized, such a contradiction to my mixed up thoughts and emotions. Just thinking about it makes me feel good. But nothing can beat that rush. Knowing that it will be better now. Now that you can focus on the physical not the mental pain. I don’t know how I managed to quit for so long. Who’d want to give up that feeling? It’s like a wonderful high, only to come crashing back to earth as you realized that you’ve gone too far this time. You stare in disgust at the ugly red gash that is slowly filling with more red. You hurriedly get rid of the evidence, try to hide what you’ve just done, cover it with a band aid, throw away the Kleenex, now spotted with red, place the weapon back in its secret hiding place. It seems better now. You’re more relaxed, ready to take on the world. Wondering when your weapon will be needed again. You hope not soon. You hate that feeling of distress. Time to face everyone, ready to put on a happy face.


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