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Reply with quote  #1 
I wrote this May 5th, 2007, when I was 18 years old and struggling with heroin addiction.

I love the feeling of the razor to my skin.
I love when it slices through my veins.
I love the blood running down my arm.
The numb feeling.
The warmth of the blood.
The sharpness of the razor.
The slicing.
With every cut, it goes deeper and deeper into my wrist.
Watching the blood pour out of the open wound,
I forget everything, everyone, all the pain is released with the blood.
Bleed the pain away.
I'm not crazy
You're all crazy.
They don't understand the pain they put me through.
The pain I put myself through is the only thing in my control.
I control how deep.
How sharp.
How fast or slow.
I control every movement of the razor on my skin.
And it all feels so good.
Watching the blood pour out.
The pain pour out.
I feel relieved.
Put a band-aid on.
Put on a long-sleeve shirt.
Walk away like nothing happened.
Have to hide it from the world.
Only I know its there.
And I like it that way.
You hurt me. fine.
Ill hurt myself 10x worse.
Because one more time.
One wrong move.
One slice too deep.
How deep is "too deep"
When will I get that far.
I want to die watching the blood slowly empty itself from my body.
I want to feel that numb dull pain.
That burning emptiness inside.
The sharp of the razor.
I love the feeling of the cold razor on my warm skin.
The warmth of the blood.
...Bleed the pain away...
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