Untitled: (Times Like These)

By: Demon Goddess

Big, red drops fall on clean white paper. I place my tongue at the edge of one of the deeper cuts and slowly traced over it.

The sweet tangy copper tasting drops leave a familiar and well-missed taste in my mouth.

I look down at the razor and then lick the blood away.

Unlike some, I never cry during these times, no emotional outburst. I lick away the blood from the rest of the cuts.

How many are there this time? I don’t bother to count them, to keep track anymore, for I know there shall be more in just a few days, months at the most.

Oh yes, I tried to stop before, but I have learned to accept the inevitable. Something will drive me to the point.

These are the times that I’m alive.

These are the times that I am dead.

These are the times I wish for death.

But you cannot kill the walking dead.