tw:s/h
Scissors, the cold blade on my healing, tender, scared skin. The feeling of it digging, cutting, slicing a new scar deep into my flesh, knowing that it would scar, knowing that people would find out and plead me to stop, but I didn't care. The feeling of cold blood dripping down my wrist, the smell filling my nose. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, small sobs escaped as I snapped back to reality. I enclosed my arm in the sleeve of my hoodie, which was now covered in speckled red lines. I dried my eyes, hid the scissors, and walked out of my room, like nothing happened.
