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Erika Jones Erika Jones
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Dealing with the pain is
       better when you have the blade.
The soft touch of steel
              against flesh reminds me
       of the everyday stress, how
                     nothing else seems to relieve the
              screaming voices inside my head.
                            Sight of crimson makes them
                     happy, no longer screaming,
                                   no longer waiting, no longer wanting
                            me to mutilate myself for

                                          the moment.

They never stop until they
              get what they want. They
       always come back, sometimes
                     within seconds they're screaming
              again. Suggesting me to cut deeper,
                            cut longer and harder. Make the river
              of  crimson run faster, further away
                            from me. To draw the darkest      

                                          crimson I can muster.

Sometimes I wonder if there's
              another way to silence the voices,
       make them want something else,
                     something that's not steel against
              the flesh, not want the crimson
                            river that they've always

                                          begged for.

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