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O' how it calls to me.

The itch is so strong.

My skin tingles with the remembrance.

How it felt... the relief.



Hurt myself, I might.

Hypnotized with the blood of my own.

Too tired to bother.

Not wanting to care.



The silver is what I crave.

The cut is what I must have.

Smooth and quick.

How I miss it so.



Despite my efforts,

I fight this withdrawal.

So strong is the urge.

Yet such fear do I have.



Go back there,

I will not.

They'd see.

They'd get mad.



But hide it I could.

They'd never know how or why.

If I succumbed just once more...

To the promise of the blade.