Memories

I remember the first time I cut. I would cut the tips of my fingers until they bled, one by one. Slice by slice. It felt good. It felt right. Then when my fingers stopped helping me through my pain. I moved to my legs i cut those until almost nothing was left but scars and cuts. When that no longer worked i moved to my arms no longer hidden, except for under my thin hoodie. That felt goo felt right the rush never went away not after the first time, not after the 10th time, the 20th time. It never got old. I remember the day the darkness grabbed me and pulled me into its sweet grasp. Nothing can touch you when your there, nothing but you. Only you can save you and only you can hurt you. everything else is a blur. You stop talking, you stop everything, because you finally feel safe, and that nothing can hurt you. The darkness comes and goes, but it is never truly gone. It stays behind waiting for when you need its grasp. Waiting, lurking for the best time to swoop in and take you under its wing. And when it finally does you are flying on the rush. The rush of the blade on your skin, the rush of sadness in your soul. But honestly the rush of the blade may be there, but real darkness is cold and scary. It is lonely, consuming, tiring, it steals your soul. The darkness eats you alive, until you are nothing but alone, and sad, I enjoyed the rush, the first times around, I enjoyed the darkness, the cold, the death of the real me. Now Im just tired of this on going battle. When will it end, Why wont it end. The rush of the razor calls to me. I am tempted, interested. I feel like a miss it. At the end of the day I wonder when will the darkness strike again? I know that it is coming, and I know it will be here soon. Or maybe it already is and I am over the rush.
Kyra