The Last Slice

Let me just… ahhh…

I slit my wrist and I felt relief take over me

The pain increased as I watched my smooth chocolate skin fade away behind a curtain of crimson red blood that was now dripping onto my cream carpet taking with it the pain I had in my heart. The knife became my therapist. I didn’t have to worry about awkwardly explaining how it felt to be abused, bullied, molested. It understood me and I understood it. But one day we were talking and things went to far. It cut me too deep, deeper than I’d intended. I didn’t mean to die. I meant to take away the pain. And now from this eternal hell I relive my life over and over again and think if I could live again would I treat pain in the same way? Harming your body to heal your soul doesn’t work. I wish I’d known that before I let the knife do it’s worst.

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