September.

The soft metal lay upon her skin,
rosy, plush, and young.
Her mind lay at the ready;
waiting to rid herself of this world.

His name rings in her ears
as the battle of the century goes down,
raging inside her skull. 

"I could love you. I could make you happy."
She flinches at the memory of that night;
the cold steps beneath her bare thighs,
his hands tracing her spine,
the pungent smell of alcohol on his tongue;
his face so close to hers.

Her lips remember the way
that they had once searched his,
trying to find what, exactly,
she wasn't completely sure.

The image of his back,
growing darker as he walked away,
flooded her mind and soul.
She fingers the sharp delicately,
lays the edge against her thigh.

The world stops spinning;
her heart starts racing.
A single bead of sweat drips
ever so slowly down her back.

Then she moves her hand slowly,
hearing the skin rip as the relief spreads;
she looks down and is whole again,
being sewn back together
by splitting herself apart.