- 10/11/12 -

This is one of the few pieces that, when I finished it and reviewed over it, gave me goosebumps.

10/11/12;;

I'm closer than I've ever been to giving up.

This brink, its narrow orifice;
the abyss darker than black itself,
scares me.

Years ago,
I never would've thought
I would resort
to cutting myself.
Starving,
for that next
release of pain.

For the sting
brought by
the razor
as it cuts across my skin.

I never thought,
my body would be covered
with scars.
That I would be like a walking jigsaw.

I never thought,
that I would steal razorblade
gather scissors in multitudes
dissect pencil sharpenersand rob them of their blades.

I never thought,
that I would want to take my own life,
as badly as I do right now.

But of course, back then, I hadn't known the monster.

The feral creature that is the epitome of self-injury and addiction.

My craving for him runs deep,
etched into the marrow of my bones,
threatening
to overwhelm me.

Worms tunneling along my nerves,
stygian whispers
feathering through my blood

His influence,
like undiluted alcohol,
intoxicating.

All it takes is one single
innocent taste--

You open a dark door,
with that first cut,
and the devil steps in.

At first it's almost fun.
You experiment,
with how far you can go,
how deep you can push
the blade.
Then you wake up one day,
beside the monster.

For me, however,
it's different.

I have a therapist.
Two, infact.
My family found out,
at the very beginning.

And so my eyes were opened early,
to the monster.

Unfortunately,
I didn't see him for what he was.

I see him for what he can offer me.
Punishment.
Pain.
And, maybe someday,
an end.

And so,
I flirt with him.

Carve his name into my skin,
get drunk on his kisses,
think about him all the time.

About when I'll see him next.
About what we'll do,
how far we'll go.
The future I have with him.
How miserable I am.
But how I deserve it,
and how I'd be
even worse,
without him.

I sink lower every day.

Author's Note

See, I wanted to make this piece as honest and personal as possible. Accurate, too, but because some of the sensations can't be described literally, I used a bit of abstract phrasing ...

It took me like, two or three hours to successfully finish this. I had to step back from it more than a few times--writing about my self-injury with so much depth and honesty was dangerous, in the fact that in order to lend it the right amount of emotion and individuality, I had to delve into my own memory bank. I had to recall some really nasty times with the monster (of self-injury). Not fun.

So. The act of creating this piece was riddled with landmines. But I did it! Without relapsing! Yay for me, right?

It's my only non-erotica piece that makes me want to melt, lolz.

However, if you're an ex-cutter or a current cutter, and you think it might trigger you, then please don't read it. I don't want to be responsible for someone else's descent into madness =

Positive stuff and constructive critism is welcome :)