Few days ago my mom sent me to the basement with an exacto knife to cut up some pieces of cardboard that she was going to recycle. I sat down and couldn't cut the boxes. All I could do was stare at the knife. It's sharp blade. And the skin on my arms. I thought about blood spreading on it, staining it. Ran the knife's edge over my wrist, and shivered. Wouldn't let myself do it; I stabbed the fucking cardboard right through to the floor, and left my skin untorn. I walked upstairs, smiled at my mom, and told her that the blade on the knife seemed a little loose.