Craving the edge

I haven't self  
Mutilated in four years and yet i crave nothing more then the sweet kiss of the straight edge and the flow of red pumping from where my heart once was. There was no foreseeable trigger nor clear motive leading up to the cause of this sudden desire to tear away at my skin besides the obvious one of life not just defeating me but continously degrade humiliate and useing me then before i can toss in my white flag it gives and revives me just enough to contiune this monotone cycle . though thats nothing new nor a reason to go back to the me i once feared to look in the eyes of as my reflection silently mocked my agony of breathing .
 
So is it the over whelming flood of everyone elses emotions drowning out my own. Or is it being sick of feeling nothing at all besides over the top highs and too deep lows  broken by grey nothingness
It could be the lack of any real sitimulation just moving quietly from the couch to the floor and every now and then the bathroom when the stench of depression seeps through my porse. Opting to say nothing at all then to risk uproar for being to soft spoken or completely ignored or mildly humored by my surrounding company. Instead i sit silently counting the ticks to my internal clock while blankly staring at a wall or home screen of my cell phone . just begging for   something anything at all to spark up and kick start me even if its only briefly .
And unlike a clock when it stops you can pin point the exact moment it ceased to work ,but people arent so easy and often you dont know when they are even broken . very few can see past the painted on smiles and glass glazed eyes . those tethered to each other feeling the same things but forced to watch from the sidelines in empathetic silence.
And this isn't nor ever has been a cry for attention though thats all i really want a kiss or hug or even the heat radiating from our bodys close proximitys but alas im left with cold touches and loud vacant snores. And the key bored blurs once again...