Relapse

Two years of fighting my fears. Tears roll down my face and I take the razor at a steady pace. Hasty the blade goes, fine lines it reminds me of a time. Desperate for control, I roll the joint and step back. Inhale, hold, and exhale.

Attack my self, living in my mind is not divine. A crime, the thoughts I have if I were to act them out in reality. Another few months in rehab...it may have to be. Feel the pain, see the tearing,and the dark color. It feels wonderful.
Control in my own hands once again.

Then I wake up. The smoke clears and I have fought my fears. The tears rolling back in to my puffy eyes like a movie rewinding,the blood goes back in to my body, the skin closing up and the blade goes back on the table and I am still stable. I won't give in. I will win this battle and tackle the hassle to pick up the blade that made these scars. So far I have come. It feels good to finally be done.