Choices.

I feel a repression.  A self contained anger.  A lurching within my soul.  A pained way of being. 

I spoke out, “Tell me to stop. Tell me it's wrong; ask me not to do this...” My voice faded away and he did not respond.  He had never been one for words, even when the silence itself was asking to be filled he still would not utter a sound.   "Please?" I begged, a whimper, my soul lunging from my body and into the space between us; I was trying to make the word worth something, anything to make him understand. 

He still did not, but then again, who am I to say?  Maybe he did, if he had, he was doing well to hide it.  I needed somebody or something, to stop what I could feel in my boiling blood was about to happen.  I know it's wrong and I know I shouldn't.  But, I need to feel.  Pain is good enough.  
Screaming: "Take it away!!" The words lunged from me, "Take it all away!!" Desperation was announcing itself; my lungs about to burst, loosing grip, giving up.  "Take it ALL away from me."  Shouting, talking, words themselves, they weren’t helping, just bouncing around our space.   Rising from me, my throat raw and empty. "...Please," a coarse whisper, this final word escaped my body on a breath.  I had been thrashing - waving the blade up to his face pleading that he run with it.  A glacier of cool glass plunged through my skin as it became clear to me finally, he would not do that. 

 I must run away and hide; hide somewhere where he can no longer find me, no longer see the weakness, seeping from the cracks in my soul.  I am forgetting of course - he is everywhere; always.  

Resisting the urge to run, a pointless effort.   If he watches me, sees my pain, surely he will feel it too as his own.  He should hold me back.  Stop the wretched disease spreading, cancer in my soul, forcing me to draw blood from flesh.  My flesh.  
I sat, my back pressed against the wall; cold stone.  I pulled my knees up to my chest and my arms tight around them.  Staring; dark, cold, hollow eyes, glaring down at my naked scars.  So ashamed.  They stared back.  Memories: pain, loss, anger, emptiness, sorrow.  I did that.  

The blade pressed to my skin, not yet drawing blood, a small dent.  My body weak, empty but for once, I could feel.  A lack of lacking. I am here.  Again.  Finally.  

I loosened my grip, my skin settled, subtly inflamed; I watched the blade slip from my palm.  The sound echoed through me as it hit the ground, loud and clear, shocked me from my trance.  I felt him.  Hand on my shoulder, pulling me into the heat of his body.  My limbs relaxed into his strength; loving warmth between his wings.  

Light, soft feathers rippled across my skin as he lifted me to my safety.  Lying through my body he melted into me, his wings, my wings, wrapped around my body, holding me together, the cracks all fading and bound back together in his presence and light.  

As I drifted into a peaceful sleep I felt his soft words creep around my neck, and for once he spoke, telling me he cannot stop me, for I hold the fruit of the snake.