My darkness rises with the moon.
Every night I live the same war.
To cut or not to cut. (Sorry, I’m a Shakespearean geek)
But I know that it’s never really a question.
I can picture the blood, feel the burn, and I know it’s coming and that I can’t stop it.
It should probably scare me, or at least make me feel a little nauseous.
But as usual, I feel nothing.
I know the blood will set me free.
At least until the moon visits again.