The Knife

Shiny,

Sharp,

Cold,

The knife gleams,

calling me,

beckoning me towards it,

urging me to reach for it.

I recoil,

disgust at myself for even contemplating,

guilt for thinking of it,

sadness knowing that I want to really bad.

I give in.

One,

the numbness shifts as I am met with stinging.

Two,

the tears stop and my mind blanks

different from the noise of my clouded thoughts.

Three,

the blood starts flowing in gory statisfaction.

Four,

I no longer care about the disappointment.

Five,

I do not think about the guilt.

Six,

I snap back to reality at the realization of what was happening.

I throw the knife and stare at the fresh cuts.

The battle is hard.

It give me a fix.

Like a drug addict.

I am addicted.