The Past Is In the Past
As much as I'd like to think,
That this mess is done and over with,
I'm lying to myself when I say I don't want,
To feel the reeling pain,
And delicious pulling apart of the skin on my arms.
It's like an addiction,
But it's one that I like,
Even if I dread the consequences that follow.
Quite honestly,
I wish I could pick up the razor,
And do it all again,
But then where would I be?
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