(CW// Self Harm)
The metal is cool against my burning skin.
I haven’t started yet, but I can already see the lines.
A memory of the past, the future.
Perhaps this can cut through what I feel.
Perhaps this can make it real.
Perhaps this will be the time.
Perhaps this will make it fine.
To cut, to not, to heal, to rot
Why does it matter?
What’s the point?
I don’t know what to do anymore.
Fuck it, why not, right?