unfortunately

I close my eyes and imagine the blade sinking into my arm. Not my wrist, my arm. I don’t want to die – I want to bleed. I want the thin, sharp blade to pierce the chubby, smooth, pale flesh of my arm and I want to watch as the line turns red, then forms tiny mounds of shiny crimson blood that get bigger and bigger… then when they can no longer withstand the gravity, slide down the side of my arm, tickling me with their relief.

These tiny streams take with them the darkness. Each drop falling onto the floor takes a minuscule pixel of the black that has invaded my spirit and carries it away, leaving behind a pinpoint of light.

But I can’t do it. All I can do is imagine it. Is it because I’m weak? Or is it because I know it won’t actually help, I only want it to? Perhaps it’s both.

Unfortunately, I won’t know unless I try.

Unfortunately, I may never try.