The Comfort of a Blades Kiss

Dispersed relief prevades my mind, a shiver down my spine. Sporadic dots begin to form, delicately leaking - the sensation warm. Re-colouring past blunders, relapsed with a single stroke. Permenant in their placement, yet guilt they still evoke. Familiar, though, the feeling is, bonds born from repetition. A self-inflicted submission; the comfort of a blades kiss. I miss it when I sit alone, a darkened room that mimics 'home'. It lays in wait for my return, embodying comfort; grip stays firm. A friendship founded like no other. An impulse I can't seem to smother. Blade in hand; a life-long debt, dripping crimson regret - This addiction I crave helps me dig my own grave.