Punishment

I open up my drawer (the one I look at constantly). I just peer in for a moment. It looks like all the others, its full of clothes. But as I reach my hand underneath all the clothes, I find why it is different. I find exactly what I’m looking for. My prized possession. It’s the only thing that keeps me in line and sane. My knife.

I take it out and gently touch it to my wrist. I slowly start to press harder. The pain excites me. I stop teasing myself, I lift up the knife. I press it down with more speed and pressure than before. I can feel it easily going through my skin. I can feel it easily gliding through each thin layer of skin. Red starts flowing. I stare with a great awe as each cut fills up with liquid. Blood is running down my arm. I start to tremble. I’m not sure if it is from excitement, heat, or the loss of blood. I clean off my knife and slowly place it back in its spot. I press hard on my wrist with a tissue. The pain is unbelievable. But I don’t regret it (right now…give me a few hours…) I need to do this. I have to punish myself, for every stupid thing I do, otherwise I will never learn. Now, I won’t have to do this until I make another horrible mistake. Whish by experience, I’m sure will be tomorrow.