Relapse Has Never Sounded So Good

A knife pressed against my thigh, tears and mascara running down my face. The tears hit my leg, running down it like I wish the blood would.

I just wanted to feel it.

I wanted the rush, as much as I wanted the pain.

I've never craved death like I did that night, because I clung to you, my nails digging into your shoulder blades and scalp as I held you tight begging you to stay.

You rocked me back and forth whispering that you never would.

But I couldn't help but wish a car would hit me on my way home, wishing I could be sent to the ER on the verge of death, wishing I could just slip away.

I've never wanted to vomit like I did that night.

I wanted to expel everything I have ever ate because the pain I felt was enough to make me sick.

I've never craved relapse like I did that night, but what I did to you was enough to make me want to die, and I haven't craved that in a long time. I just wanted it to end, because maybe it would be better if I wasn't around, if you could just live in peace without me. I just wanted a way out.