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The first cut, wasn't the deepest.
No, not at all.
It was like the others,
a subtle rend of anxious skin,
a gentle pulse of crimson,
just enough to hush the demons,
shrieking inside my brain.
But this time they wouldn't shut up.
Just kept on howling, like my mother,
when she was in a bad way..

Worst thing was that as i got older,
i relized how much i resembled mother,
falling in and out of the blue,
then lifting up into the white.
That day I actually thought about howling.
So i gave myself to the knife,
asked it to bite a little harder, chew a little deeper.
The hot,scarlet rush felt so delicious,
i couldn't stop there.

The blade might have reached bone,
but my mother barged in into the bathroom,
found me leaning against the tub,
you should
of heard
her scream.