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It never occured to me that bleeding out could bring such a sense of accomplishment, yet the sense of self reverance is still breathing under the pools of depression. After the skin swells against the red tide that was so carelessly summoned the scars will encrypt your story into the fresh flesh of you arms. But this self made legacy is only temporary, old scars will fade and the sense of accomplishment will fade as well. So this vicious cycle is repeated, time after time the lovingly smoth, cold metal is laid against the tender, pink flesh of the wrist, then pressed towards the soft, blue vein, and time after time the crimson red flower will bloom forth underneath the unforgiving metal. I found this true not from self experience but from other means.