I open my toolbox

It is 11:56

I choose the orange handled sharp edge and decide it is time to begin

I place three white towels on the ground and my note on the sink

I pull my hair back in a ponytail

I close my toolbox

It is 11:57

I begin slicing neat little lines, two the shape of a heart, and three broken ones

My heart rate remains stable; I observe how greenish blue my veins look

I hit the counter and make a clink noise, and now I have to make the noise thrice more

I look at my tool box

It is 11:58

My slices are too messy; I begin wiping the red off my pale arm

I hear a knock on the door, calling my old name

My heart rate increases, I continue, but now swiftly

I open up my toolbox again

It is 11:59

I clean the orange handled sharp edge and begin with the green sharp edge

It is time I pick up the pace

I hit the shower in my old claustrophobic bathroom and now make the noise thrice more

I smile, I won’t be a slave much longer to this

I slowly open my veins and watch them drip away

I do not clean them

Blood is dripping on the floor

I do not clean it

I restrain myself

I have a headache

I begin shaking and grab my hair

I realize I have now messed up my hair; I let my hair fall down, and brush it

I watch the lovely crimson make trails on my arm

I do not clean them

I hear my old name being called, and now I hear the door making loud noises.

I feel light headed, drowsy

But so happy

I see my birth mothers face, staring down at me

Her eyes are shiny

I say I love her

Of course I don’t have to say it thrice more

Because I’m done; finished

I’m a slave to this no more

It is 12:00

I’m finished; done