I'm yours, and
that makes me sad because
I thought I had gotten past you
but I guess I was wrong.

"You look sad,"
says the man ringing up
my new box of
razor blades.

I smile, of course,
and tell him
I'm just a little tired,
is all.

He nods and says,
"I would be too if
I was jogging at
4:00 AM."

I pay, take the box,
and head for home.
The air is cold,
the night is dark.

Run harder, run faster,
ignore your burning legs and
ignore your pounding chest,
pick up the pace.

I look at my dog,
running faithfully beside me
even though he's tired and
wants to go home.

Grip the box tighter,
this is a new beginning,
one that I don't
want.

But I've come back,
I'm falling back
into this hole
of hell.

Ignore the men
who call out,
"Hey, baby! Looking good!"
Run away, run away.

Headphones in,
music up,
run away from
the world.

I'm sick and my
heart is pounding and
my eyes are burning
from the tears.

It smells like cigarette smoke
and it fills my lungs,
it tastes like that man's mouth,
I'm going to be sick.

I try so hard to
throw the box away,
I don't need this.
I don't need this.

I get home and
I open the box.
So shiny, so new,
the first use is the best.

Put it away, I tell myself
that I can overcome this.
You haven't slept in days,
I know I haven't, okay?

My hands shake,
my wrists ache,
the blade calls out
my name.

I give in, and
I bring it to my wrist
and with a slow pull,
it bites me with love.

I draw in a breath,
I'm ruining myself again,
this isn't worth it!
Mariah, this isn't worth it!

I'm yours, and
that makes me sad because
I thought I had gotten past you
but I guess I was wrong.