She looked down. The tears that ran down her cheeks were black from the days of smudged makeup that covered her eyes. She reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek. As her hand brushed her face it left a smudge of crimson on her chin. She had added three new cuts. One day she would look back at the scars and count them all, naming a reason for each one. But for now she just added to the collection. Her fingers brushed over her wrist and continued down her forearm. She put down the blade. She didn't need anymore for today. As much as she wanted, she couldn't bleed anymore. The feeling was still fresh in her mind, the memory so vivid. She felt so numb before, but now she had the pain. She could still feel the sharp ripping of her skin as the blade passed through it. Watching the thin break in the skin almost seem to grow as blood suddenly covered the surface of her skin. And each time the blade passed across her skin, the more pain she felt. But this pain was physical. It was something she could control, and then she could watch it heal. So unlike the emotional pain she felt. That never healed, only grew. But this gave her an escape. Gave her hope that some kinds of pain could heal. She stumbled backwards and slid down the wall. She was never going to heal. Not all of her, ever. She went to move forwards again, to grab the blade. But she stopped, using all her self restrain. I will not draw more tonight.