You are still here. I have tried to free myself of you, but you remain.

Your touch crawls along my skin. I keep the blade in myhand. I attempt to cut you away.

But no matter how much I bleed, I still feel you..

Your voice echoes in my mind. I put my hands over my ears. Maybe I can drown you out.

But no matter how loud I scream, I still hear you.

They put me here to keep me safe. They think they can kill you.

They give me medicine. I tell them I'm not sick. But I know that I am. You are my illness.

I sink to the floor, drawing my knees close to my body and staring down at my wrists. You are there, beneath the skin.

I tear at the old wounds, and soon my arms and hands are slick with dark liquid. There is blood under my nails.

I laugh until I cry.

I am leaving here today. They think that I am better. That you are gone.

The cuts on my arms are healing. They say I have made great progress.

I say nothing.

I am thinking of the dagger in my bedside drawer at home.

Speak to me now Tom. While you have the chance.

Because I'm killing you tonight.