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.
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.