marks of pleasure

I trace the sensitive lines on my skin, recalling the pain of making them. My index finger follows the path marked by them. I feel the relief, which I love so much. I remember that moment, the exact moment. My cloudy mind couldn't focus. Without realizing it, I notice the dampness. I think maybe I've crossed a line I shouldn't have, but it's too late to regret it. I obsess over them, and I want more. I know I shouldn't.