Choking on unknown sorrows I waddled back to my room and let the remainder of the evening go by in a dreamlike flurry of unconnected actions. text, text, text. wait. glare. burst into tears. text, text. stare at the dim rectangular screen. burst into tears. At the back of my mind – Remember last year? When you carved those beautiful parallel lines? Those patterns that gave you a momentary relief from all the mental and emotional pain? Look for it again. In a frenzy, I desperately searched for my tool. It was missing. I racked my brains, going over every possible situation. Not in this carton, not in that drawer, not in this box. Where the fuck?! Knife. I rushed to my friend’s room and retrieved the loaned knife. It wasn’t as sharp as it used to be. I left on my table and curled up next to my phone. Lines. Lines. The pattern is waiting my love. Tortured by the thought, I resumed my search and came out successful. Under the soft glow of orange lights I cut through my skin. It didn’t bleed. Gripping the tool tighter I lashed out and still didn’t see red. I sat back, held my wrist between my knees and with all my concentration, drew the famed parallel lines. It bleeds now. It bleeds.



One thought on “the will to follow through

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