this old familiar feeling is beginning to set in again. it's this frustrating feeling of death that makes me feel more alive then i can any other way. i don't exactly know how to describe it, but it's something that could easily be diagnosed if noticed. the problem is that i'm just way to good at keeping it hidden. if i admit what i'm feeling, then the secret's out and i have nothing to keep from you. which isn't exactly what i want, but it's the easiest way to live. it's been so long since the last time i needed to scratch at the surface of this. but i couldn't quite overcome the too familiar feelings. this needed to be tested to see if its real because i'm not sure if this is reality or reality t.v., a mini series of death and self destruction if you will. so i grabbed the knife and i firmly pressed the tip until i saw the surface give way. i couldn't quite feel the pain but i knew that if i could feel it, it would be there. instead of trying to remember where this had gotten me before, i dig deeper and push harder. i scratch and scratch until that burning starts. not quite pain, but definitely relief. i can't help the smile spread across my face as this burst of feeling radiates from my arm straight to my heart without making any stops for fresh air. this is the final stretch because i know i need to stop. this can't get out of hand. i can only feel so much at a time and i can't feel it all here. i need to save this last bit until i really need it. i throw the knife aside and look at the mural i've just created on this once empty canvas. to the un-aided eye it looks like angry scribbles, but to me there is a word in the center that is so blantantly clear: my mother's name. my heart drops into my shoes and this feeling of defeat and disappointment washes over me. i run the water as hot as it'll go and stick my arm under. i grab the washcloth and scrub at my arm. i want the blood to be gone, and i want the wounds to disappear with it. i can see the skin redden in anger at the heat of the water and the friction on my skin. i scream at myself, but not a sound comes out. i scrub and scrub until everything is washed away and nothing is left but the anger inside. i sink to the floor and clutch my burning arm. i feel so tired and so disappointed that i slump to the floor and close my eyes and hope to never wake. i didn't shed a single tear and i haven't yet. tonight has just become a secret. another lonely secret i'll keep to myself.