Red-streaked eyes bore into the mirror.

I trace a hand across pale skin,

Fingers moving over healed scars.

Heaving a heavy sigh I fumble about,

Grasping my small blade of steel.

Slowly I place it on tender skin,

The thrilling rush of cold freezing my nerves.

Slowly I drag it,

Each second lasting an eternity.

I stifle a cry as blood is drawn,

A stream of red running through a blotched desert.

With deft movement I wipe the blood off my cheek,

I hate shaving.