I hear the demons talking to me.
They’re clawing at my brain.
Telling me if I give in
I will no longer feel pain.

They talk to me at night,
Whisper in my ear.
Begging me to come to them,
Sometimes it’s all I can hear.

They say I’ll “feel better.”
“Just pick up the blade.”
“One quick slit
And you’ll never be the same.”

It makes me remember how it felt:
The cold metal against my skin,
Blood pouring from my arms and legs,
Every cell in my body wanting to sing.

The blade was my friend,
My lover, my life.
Without it I’d die,
With it I’d try.

It was there for me
When no one else was.
So to just say “no”
Feels completely wrong.

How can I betray
My near and dearest friend?
The only one who took care of me,
The only one who can.

So sometimes I give in
Just a little.
Just so it knows
How I appreciate it still.

See the blade, the pain
Is like my god.
Without it I feel dead,
But with it... I feel alive.