I draw the single, slim razor I broke out of a shaving head down my wrist. It works so well, I love it. The thin lines of crimson life seep out and form red drops. Its so beautiful. When the liquid threatens to spill I lap it up, the wonderful, metallic taste of life slowly draining out. Tomorrow I’ll put on the make up to conceal these scars, and hide my lovely blade somewhere safe. Cutting, I’m becoming addicted with you. I want to see my blood gushing out, but that much pain just doesn’t sit well with me.
Why did I post this? Because I read a great post by someone else called my curse. In the beginning stages myself, and for this glorious moment, its a blessing. This isn’t my first time, but it sure is the best.
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2 comments
I’ve never been a cutter, yet can almost relate to it.
I am an IV drug user from time to time, I’ve been clean since May 2012.
Started shootin up at 16, now 52. Watching the needle peirce my skin, the entry to the viens, and then drawing the plunger of the syringe back and seeing the blood enter the surynge mixing with the cocaine was a wonderous feeling, even before I shot the dope into my arm. I was addicted and am addicted to the ritual of using the tools, mixing the dope, drawing it out of the spoon, and injecting the drug. So I can understand on a level of ritual that you and others like the mechanics of cutting as much as the bleeding.
That was my post. Thanks for readin it. Thumbs up.
Wow. We all are really just a fucked up bunch of mistakes, huh? 🙂