I feel the anger and fustration boiling inside me. It seduces me, and I know there is no escape.

I see a blade, thin and sharp. It calls to me. Hands shaking, I press the blade lightly to my skin. "Wait," I tell myself. "This is wrong." I begin to pull the blade away, but then all the emotions return. I bring the blade back.

Hands shaking, I drag the razor across my arm. I don't feel the pain, only happiness and relief as I see the blood well in it's path.

Now, whenever I feel upset or overwhelmed, I return to that sharp friend of mine, and it's thirst for my blood. I know there is no escape for me.

The scars on my arm are kept out of view from everybody, so that no one shall wittness my shame. I tell nobody.

Sometimes, I want someone to look behind my smiling eyes, and recieve my plea of help. I wonder if anyone will notice, and if anyone will care.