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Inevitable. I knew it was inevitable. I knew that one day the monster would break free of its
cage and ravage me with its sweet claws once more.
Three years, I was able to hold it at bay. Three years of trying to delude myself into
believing that I could win. And then, Thursday night, I held the sewing pin, and all those
emotions came back to me. Yes, the sewing pin was always my preferred knight of shining armor.
And I remembered those nights, the hour long sessions in which euphoria was transcended.
I held it to my upper left arm, and let loose a dainty swipe. It was not my intent to cut; I
merely wanted to get a small taste of that epidermal delicacy which I lived off of all
throughout my teenage years. But a recovering alcoholic can’t just take a swig of gin and walk
away, no. Once it hits the lips, all composure is lost, and the bottle will be consumed. Just
like the overeater who wants ‘just a little taste’ of chocolate cake, then shoveling mouthfuls
down the throat within seconds.
Cutting can not be done in moderation. That would be like a person yanking down your pants, and
then abruptly exiting the room, leaving you blue-balled. Once it’s on, it’s on, until you go so
deep, the nerves receive an endorphin rush orgasm of epic proportions.
It was ultimately the right wrist which the crimson Goddess rode her liquid chariot out of.
Below the pinky finger, and yes, it is deep, like vaginal lips in which my steel dildo
inseminated the body and mind with bliss.
Cutting… Please, God, let this be an isolated failing on my part, not a full-blown descent into
metallic dictatorship. I don’t want to be a slave of steel ever again.
© Derek M, 1 May 2006
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