Wonderful firsts

Wonderful tools leave their trail
Each line telling a tale.
First time? No.
Last time? I hope so.

I convince myself that i like te burning...the uncomefortable sensation the cold relvalations.

I acted on impulse and am unsure as to whether regret is evident...

My saddest thought of all being what will mother say? On the light of another day?

Red skin angrily cries for attention, no blood but irritated flesh.
How did I allow myself to get into this mess?

For so long I've bottled it up and avoided the curiosity of what benefits this act offers, granted I felt something else other than troubling emotions. Now I have fear of judgment and mothers disappointing expressions.

[This is not something I'll be discussing in person, consider that the warning, neither should it be a topic of a group discussion]