Over.

I promised to only cut one time.
But once the cool, sharp razor
Breaks my scarred, waiting skin.
I need more.
I fall victim to the sweet embrace.
And crave the overflow of blood
That releases words I can't speak.
It fills me.
Disinfectant, and band-aids.
Clean up and it's done.
But the battle is not over.
It goes on.
I haunts me through the day.
Fresh scars, pulsing.
Struggling to keep control.
It gets harder.
Is this all my life will be?
Cutting and covering?
What a painful existence.
But, its my life.
I can't handle it anymore.
I wish it would be over.
I can do that.
Just one sharp movement.
Would anyone miss me?
Would I have an affect?
I doubt it.
Maybe I should just do it.
Just one cut.
Or just a few pills.
And it would all be OVER.