She hears it,
She sees it.
It wants her,
She wants it.
She picks the shiny object up;
It is sharp,
Just like she remembers.
The cool, cold metal feels nice between her fingers.
She holds it there for a moment
then rolls up her pant leg.
Placing the Blade down lightly on her skin,
She pushes as she pulls.
A fine, red line appears on her leg.
It feels good
And she feels her sins slowly bleed from the cut.
She places the Blade back where she had found it.
It sits there and waits for the next night
That this teenage girl will feel the need,
And hear the call
Of the Blade....
© Copyright 2016 Iva Stone Adair. All rights reserved.
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