And so I sit here, reminding myself
Of every reason I should not pick up that knife
And how things will only get worse if I do.
It is not the action I seek,
It is the results
The burning white of the pain
The violent shade of red dripping venemously down my skin
That reminds me
I am, in fact, alive.
And so I sit here, alone
because I have never told anyone
Wanting to scream or destroy something
(even if it is myself.)