Relief of all despair

Relief of all despair

As the slice goes deeper, it instantly releases the pain. Hard to
understand? That's probably because it is.

I have a collection now hide away from prying eyes.
As the light shines off the stainless steel, I admire its razor sharp
blade.
Feeling a great sense of comfort knowing that this `Miracle Cure` is
here for me when I need It's help.

Like Siamese twins, we carve letters of great meaning into our
worthless flesh. Using his blood stained blade, I proudly begin
competing for the deepest gash.
His face emotionless, he watches, criticising that it was not a job
well done. Disappointed in myself, my rage builds. I tear my flesh
apart. My blood runs cold. Slowly it seeps down my arm; at times it
even tastes good.

Relief of pain and utter despair, an expression of art, was only a few
reasons why I took this brutal way out.
It's hard to find an alternative to the rush of relief you get when you
run a blade, slowly horizontally across that mass of scars and crusty
wounds.

You do find a place in your mind, eventually, when you learn how to
reach that little bit of strength to get you through the difficult
times.

Well now the blades have gone rusty, and that hiding place has now
vanished, never to be found again.