12:01

Sitting in the bed,
Head in my hands,
Internally debating
What is right and what is wrong.

The dog is snoring
So loud it interrupts my thoughts,
But only for a moment.
Then I'm back inside my head,
Once again debating
To pay the bathroom a visit.

I look to the man lying by my side,
Sound asleep,
Oblivious to my internal struggle.
He doesn't believe I'm depressed
And thinks this will all pass;
I know it won't,
It never does.

I've been thinking about it all day,
Running the blade down my arm,
Seeing the blood drip,
Knowing I have control once again.
That is a wound time will heal
And I can fix.

I walk towards the bathroom
Searching for my hidden blade.
The shiny metal captivates me,
Pulling me under its spell,
Begging me to use it.
I know I shouldn't.

I've been clean for a few months now;
Can I really throw that all away?
Just for a tiny taste of the blade.
What would he think if he saw?
What would everyone say?
I begin to put away the blade.
I know I shouldn't. It's wrong.

But I give in.
And as the blade touches my skin
I feel in control again.