smooth.

You look so peacful with your eyes closed. Hands running across my arms and back, your mouth twitches with pleasure. Eyes flutter open and you look right into me, deeper and deeper you go. Smooth, slow, warmth spreading through both of us. Breathing is low and hot, there is no stopping now. One night of bliss, one night of sin.

Love, you have all of me so please don't break me.

calling.

It's been 4.5 months since I've hurt myself, or rather, since I cut myself. Wrist banging counts as hurting. The cutting is still hard to control, although this is the longest stretch ever since I started seven years ago. My body has spilt it's share of blood.

I'm going to admit, right now, that I am addicted to cutting.I'm in love with it; Action and idea. The white lines that lace my skin call out to me and ask for more. I need more. Just a few more, then I will be done. One long pretty one for my arm, maybe with some smaller ones criss-crossing back and forth, back and forth white stripes that blossom red, spilling over and down my arms, warm red like a lover's caress.

This is a problem. I can't let myself do it, but it's like a drug and it leaves me shaking and crying and begging on the ground. "Let it tear, let it tear" I cry, but there is a part of me, I'm split in two, that holds me fast, stays my hand. I don't let me cut it out. I don't let me feel the red even though I want it more than anything.

Not anything, there is something I want more. So much more, that I'm willing to stop trying to stop.

But my arms are calling...