Running down stairs, to the kitchen
i slip, fall, but it feels good
open the drawer, silently, dont want...THEM... to hear
i grab the gleaming blade
run back upstairs, the razor in my pocket
slicing lightly on my abdomen
i slam the door
block out the knocking
grab the blade
and watch the blood trickle down my wrist
i collect the red liquid in a jar
and gulp it down quickly
wipe my mouth
run to the door
say, sorry... i was changing.. at least thats what they believe
