Salt and Iron

I crawl between my cold sheets every night. I wait, shivering until my body heats them enough for me to bear.

Eventually, my resolve breaks, and I pull near the only closeness I feel anymore. Gently, I wrap my arms around the chilled buy of cotton and feathers, clinging to the empty comfort it brings...it's not much but it's better than nothing. That's what I tell myself, repeatedly lying, over and over, praying that I eventually will believe myself. Night after night I fail, as the thoughts creep in on me from all sides.

"What's wrong with me?"

All I feel is empty and alone...the need builds inside of me...

"It has to be my fault...it has to be me"

Nothing is right anymore, my eyes start to burn...

"Is it what I say, the way I look...the way I act?"

My head starts to throb, my hands start to wander. They've developed their own mind, driven by pain and desperation. They crawl blindly, like deformed spiders, slowly creeping towards the goal. Finally, my fingers curl around the cold steel target. So small, it seems to be swallowed by my shaking fist. The thoughts swirl, blurring with pain, but making reality as sharp as my blade.

I fight myself, I know it's wrong, even though it feels so right. The need rises, beating rationality down. I feel the resolve slip, and eventually, can do nothing to resist. My head spins violently as I set blade to skin. I'm so far gone that I don't even feel the skin open. Again and again the blood stained blade draws more to itself. Biting deep and long, with no rhyme or reason. As the blood flows, my mind clears, the tears flow, mixing with the life flowing from me. Salt and iron become one. Pain once again is replaced by pain as I slowly let myself slip into darkness. I swear it to be the last time, but I know better than to believe...eventually, this will be the end of me, I know.