Sliced

                       'Do it. Do it. Dooooooo iiiittttt.'

The annoying little voice twitched inside my head, making my frown darken. I tried to ignore it; I really did. I tried to ignore the voice. I tried to ignore the sensation of filth underneath my own skin, the itching to get rid of it all.

                        'Just one slice. One slice will do.'

I gulped, squeezing my eyes shut, trying too hard to shut out the voice and ignore the desperate want to rid my body of the ugly within. I knew I was crazy; but hey, aren't we all? The thought gave me no comfort.

                         'You know you want to.'

Thats the biggest problem, the worst part. I did want to. So badly. I wanted to dig out my razor and press down harder on my wrists, my legs, hidden from the world to see, my dirty and desperate little secret.

                           'Why do you resist me? You know I am only trying to help.'

'Shut up' I whispered, knowing that no one could hear it. The shivers had started- I turned up the water heat in the shower, but still the goosebumps raised along my arm, as if anticipating my crazy urge, but making me only want to peel back my skin and dig out of nastiness that poisions my blood.

                             'You know where your mother hid it. Go on, find it.'

Like I had lost all control of my body, my eyes flew open and I reached for one of the extra rolls of toilet paper and, from the middle tube, dug out a small metal razor. I knew my mother meant well- but she was doing a hell of a suckish job stopping my terrible habbit.

                              'That's a good girl. You excited?'

Hell yeah was I excited. Terrified, of the damage I knew I would do and of the sickening rush that bubbled through my viens, hopefully fending off the ugliness before it got too deep into my soul. But excited.

                               'Just get comfortable. You know what to do.'

And I did know what to do, because I had done this millions of times before. I sat down with my back to the shower, the steaming warm water hitting my back at full speed, allowing the current to both burn and satisfy me. I twisted the blade slowly in my hands, staring at it in amazment.

                                'Breathe. Just breathe.'

'I'm doing that, asshole. Now go away.' I muttered under my breathe, looking down at my leg. I hardly ever sliced my arms- too visable. I could hid it much easier on my leg. I selected an easy piece of fat skin and closed my eyes. For barley a moment I hesitated, before pressing the blade into my skin.

                                 'Good job.'

I could feel the air hitting the open wound now, and I sucked in my breathe. Slowly, ever so slowly, I opened my eyes. The bloody blade had dropped from my finger's and now lay in one of the untouched parts of the tub. The skin of my leg was a pale now, torn open in a long, deep slice, and blood oozed out of the open cut, trailing down my leg, into the stream of water before disapearing down the drain.

                                  'Why do you fear it, my dear?'

I did fear it. I feared the fact that I would go too far, that I would cut too deep and kill myself. I feared my secret would be discovered. I feared this will leave a scar, plus proof. I feared for the fact that I wasn't dead already.

Cutting myself left me an amazing thrill rush- the fact that I had the power to decide my fate, decide what to do about the ugly desies nunder my skin that I was so desprite to rid myself off. Thats the real reason why I took pleasure in slicing myself every night. Not just for the rush, but to get rid of the nastiness that effects my body and life.

People call those like me 'emo' or 'insane' or 'sick.'

But I'm not. I am just as sane as the rest of you, except I am not willing to allow poisioned blood to effect my life.