Crimson drips down my perfectly toned thighs, the slit I made among the others, some healed and some scabbed over with dead skin. I watch it dribble down the side, amazed at how something so intricate could be the very thing keeping me alive.
I’ve thought about it more than once, how freeing it would be to leave such a cruel world of insanity, this place we call reality. The blood trickles down my leg before dripping onto the hardwood beneath me. I twirl the blade in my hands, small cuts appearing as I do so. The ache no longer affects me. If they ask, I’ll just say they’re paper cuts.