This Is

This is so much different—nowhere near the same; well, what do you mean? Let me try to explain…when I hurt myself, I know what I’ll do; I’m a thinker and a planner, believe me, I’ve thought it through. I’ve made the calculations of how deep I can go, to maximize the hurt and remain in control. I want to feel the pain, so I feel something at least, I do it to myself to try to kill the beast: you see, I’m a monster, (and I know that I am), I don’t want to hurt you, (though I know that I can.) I rule my own life, I’m the center of my story; when I go down, I’ll light my own flames of glory. You can’t take away my right to destroy me so I’ll run you off, pretend to hate to see you leave. When you hold the blade, I can’t control how deep, I can’t control the target where the tip will reach. And see that’s the thing, I know I seem unkind, but listen, I’m just trying to save my life. I dance on the edge, and teeter back and forth between living and dying, wanting less and needing more. When the dagger pierces my skin, with you wielding the blade, it’ll be too late, there’ll be nothing to save. I can’t love in parts; I love hard and unconditional, so when that happens, I’ll become irrational. I’ll lose myself and all my control; I won’t be able to stop, I’ll plummet down that hole. There’ll not be any light, at least that I could see, you’ll have stolen my hope of ever breaking free from the bonds of self hatred, and self harm; you’ll reinforce my worthlessness with the flick of your arm.

…to be continued…