I have a beautiful little black box, but I must not touch it. It was once home to a heart shaped glass necklace on a long string, my sisters necklace, a present from my Grandma. It is now home to my best friends and my worst enemies. This little box is filled with an assortment of sharp objects. Double sided razorblades, broken disposable razors, sharpener blades, pins, needles and safety pins. These pieces are my downfall and my saviour. I love them and hate them all at the same time. They are my safety blanket that I fall to when things go bad, when I can't cope and need to feel grounded, to feel alive. But I must not touch this box; this little wonder of mine. This box fuels the addiction to the destructive behaviour. It ruins my life, leaving me with physical scarring to add to the mental one. This habit is pushing people away from me, putting me in a corner where I feel so alone. The loss of friendship is all due to this little black box, this destructive nature pushed them all away, making them give up on me. Making them think I was going down hill to the point of non-existence which they didn't want to see. So now I am alone with this little box. This little box holds all my secrets and takes away my pain. The seductive scream emitting from the box draws me in, putting the cold hard steel against my soft warm flesh. Feeling the crimson warmth of my blood seeping out of the cuts and down my arms, staining everything around me. The worry and self hatred flowing out of my body mixed into the blood. I am calm and collected. My release is phenomenal, its breath taking and beautiful. I have a little black box, but I must not touch it.