Imagine One Night

Imagine one night. One night that you give in to a compulsion. A compulsion to hurt yourself. You think it will feel good. And it did. But it ruins your life and changes you forever. You’re addicted. You want it again. You try to hurt yourself again. Just like you did. It feels… Different than before. Your fingers start to come off. It’s the only thing that satisfies your compulsion. It’s okay. Well… it’s okay for a few days until you run out of useless fingers. You use the fingers remaining to hold the lighter over your disgusting hands to sear the edges. You don’t want the bleeding to stop but you remind yourself gently that you’ll bleed again. It’s not long before your toes leave you. Soon your ankles. The flesh dangles like a new cat toy and the sharp blade is the cat. Quick slices have become basic functions. The knife is an extension of your own being. You hold your breath and cut more off. Soon you’ll be out of parts to cut but you keep your breath still and your thoughts numb. You never want this feeling to stop. Your kneecaps are gone. Unable to move without excruciating pain, you try to walk. You find it fun to walk with what’s left of your legs. A few long veins and shattered bone dragging behind doesn’t slow you down and you make your way around your bedroom. Basic thought is gone now. This is all that’s left. You move to your left arm but feel bad when your right arm doesn’t get the same treatment. You apologize to your right arm but it’s not enough. It’s too jealous. It won’t ever love you again. The blood has completely soaked your floor. It’s fun to splash in the puddles. You’re running out of parts to cut off. Sad. But you keep going. It feels good but you are sad that it will end soon. Once your arm is off you reach around and make an incision under your left shoulder blade. You will yourself to rip the shoulder blade out. It takes time but it’s just like ripping out a tooth. You’ve had enough practice by now. You’ve cut just about everything and you feel weak. You keep going. It gets tough to find good places to cut. You can’t replace the feeling of that first time. Your life is worthless now. More than it was before at least. There’s nothing left for you to do. After you position the knife straight up on the floor you take the other knife and begin working on your right arm. It’s overjoyed that it gets the attention it deserves. Once you become nothing more than a bag of matted hair, shredded skin, broken bones, ripped flesh and leaking blood you make your last move. You stand on what’s left off your legs. Which is only your hip. You silently praise yourself for the wonderful job you did. The fall isn’t that far but it feels like a long time. It felt amazing. So much fun you whisper. The knife pierces your head through the temple and instantly kills you. What a shame. If only it hurt more. But it’s over now and you’ve become the thing that everyone wanted. You’ve become a corpse. Life will never see this empty vessel of a body you had. Only the sweet eyes of death as they scan the work you’ve done. They are proud. You are proud. You did it. You appreciate yourself for a moment. This is the only time anything or anyone has ever taken notice of you. The only time you have been appreciated. All it took was a knife. It was easier than expected but it felt remarkable. Nothing can compare. You’re gone now. Everyone thanks you. You can’t hurt anyone any longer. You can’t make any more mistakes. The world is better now. You are gone.