knives

there is a whole drawer full of them in the kitchen. i take one out, silver blade flashing in the light. i hold it against my wrist, feel its weight in my hand, trace the outlines of my veins with its handle. i look at the teeth, ready to bite into my skin.

it's dark outside so i can see my reflection in the window. i see an ashen faced girl about to commit an unforgivable crime.

i can't do that to them. i can't.

i go to the fridge instead and pull out an orange. i peel off every piece of pith and cut it into tiny pieces, orange blood spilling onto the counter top. i put the pieces in a container. they are tainted. the garbage disposal slices the skins up, cutting the air into shards.

i go to bed. i'm sorry i'm so weak.