There's a feeling I get in my pack, a pain. A sensation I feel could only be relieved by the point of a knife. It's an odd thing to feel, a thought to have, that the only way to get the pain to stop is by someone sticking a knife in your back.
It goes away eventually, it has to. I cannot reach back there and would not ask someone to do it for me. Still, I wonder what it might be like. The tip and edge, the cutting through. What if the release was really there, what if it worked? And all these years I'm here, skin unbroken, blades sheathed. Wouldn't I look the foolish one.
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