The Bad Thing

 

I
Sit
In a dark room
A knife
Lays
On the floor in front of me
My hand
It itches
Wanting to pick it up
To do the thing I never want to do again
To open old scars
To release the crimson flood
I
sit there
Looking at the shining blade
I look at the white strips
That are on my wrist
Testaments
Of past mistakes
Past Grief’s
Past sadness’s
I
Wish
That I could go back
And fix those mistakes
To erase those scars
But
I can't do that
It wouldn't be right
I've learned too much
Because I did
The Bad Thing