Streaking down my legs my arms. Red thick sticky the source of life. for six years I cut for six years I bled now with seven months passing it gets harder not to turn back. Trying to keep promises I've broken so many times before trying to stay away. But left alone in a room with sharp objects when no light seems to shine through on my life? A challenge has been accepted I will get through I must or for me there is no hope of keeping promises so many times broken before.
