Dear Pain

Dear Pain, I hunger for you, ache for you. You are a long-time friend, a long-time adversary. You feel so good, slowly making your way across my skin, allowing me to finally fucking feel something, anything. You and I have been separated for quite some time, but I do not have to have a razor anymore to feel you.

I miss you sometimes, most of the time actually. I miss the blood, the stinging itch of a healing cut. But you comfort me no more. You feel good to me, but others hate you. They hate what you make me, a shell of myself. You bring them more pain than you do me. 

Dear Pain, I wish you could still comfort me, but I began needing more. Hotter, sharper, more dangerous. Deeper, longer, closer to death. An unending cycle of hate, love, pain, desperation. I almost envy others who still have you as a friend, a comforting ally.

You seduce those who think about you. Just once you say. But I know better now. 

I have known better for one year and five months. But it is hard, so hard to not give in. 

I am thankful for those around me, keeping me from myself. Keeping me alive. At least I live to fight another day.