I enjoy the feeling of pinprick needles picking and poking at my skin
The sly feeling of hiding my needles in a candle jar in a less used drawer,
The holes in my skin that heal quickly, hiding my secrets
Oh how I smile as I dig in deep into my flesh, attempting to, and failing, to make it bleed.
Failing is an awful feeling, so when I tuck away my “sewing needles” I feel a hint of disappointment, that I did not see the flow of red washing over my skin,
prick prick prick
I keep going and going and going
Before I get so frustrated that I unscrew a blade from a sharpener and attempt once more
“failure failure failure”
A voice screams in my head
This blade is no real blade, but simply dulled
And now I have obtained a stinging red mark on my arm,
that will not bleed…