And so I sit here, reminding myself

Of every reason I should not pick up that knife

And how things will only get worse if I do.

It is not the action I seek,

It is the results

The burning white of the pain

The violent shade of red dripping venemously down my skin

That reminds me 

I am, in fact, alive.

And so I sit here, alone

because I have never told anyone

Wanting to scream or destroy something

anything

(even if it is myself.)