for the first time in a while, you're worried.

you're staring down at your arm, which is adorned with a few shallow cuts. blood is beading on your pale skin. the cause--a dark turquoise razor--is held loosely in your hand.

but you notice none of those things.

this is what holds your attention: the usual pain is there, but it's faint. much fainter than normal. barely there, in fact.

it shouldn't bother you. but it does.

you look down at the razor. you think that maybe it's dull. too much use. a new one should fix the problem.

you set down the razor in your hand, and without a sound, you go off in search of a newer, sharper weapon.

-

later, you have your new razor. this one is red. somewhere in the back of your mind, you think that's funny. ironic, maybe.

the cuts are deeper this time, and the pain is there in full force. you stare down at your own flowing blood, overwhelmingly relieved.

(thank god you can still feel something.)

i'm not sure what came over me. i just wrote, and this came out. it feels very raw to me. i think.

i think "enjoy" is the wrong sentiment. so...read, i guess.