Neverending, an addiction I cannot help. Fatigue and battlescars, unable to relax from the torrent of emotions that pour through me. Blood; blood and that which cannot be seen, my blood, flowing through my veins with the liquid anxiety and pain that cannot be controlled, lest it overcomes me. Burned and disarrayed, an ocean of sorrow that I cannot fathom until ten thousand years later, ten thousand tears later.
I need so desperately to cut, and yet I do not; I wish I knew why this urge was so strong, and whether it is the blood, the pain, the punishment, or the obsession that drives me. The adrenaline? The chemicals in my brain that refuse to let me go? When am I able to be free of this trembling hand that holds fast to a keyboard in hopes of standing off from the desperate loneliness that caves in my soul?