harming myself for the first time in a long time

I feel empty

I prey upon my skin to find the most vulnerable flesh. The veins are seductive, tempting me with their blue and purple hues. I know I will regret this, but ...

BUT ...

But ... what?

But I will do it anyways. It is the only instinct that doesn't seem to fail me.

I could write subtle poetry to myself, or I could write to you, or I could remain silent.

I am writing to you because, maybe, my heart seeks to be understood and cared for. Because, maybe, I need a hug. Because, maybe, you will care.