the blade of cravings - a prose

There are desires we can silence, longings we can tuck away beneath the folds of distraction and willpower. Flesh and fire, fleeting and temperamental—they can be ignored. But then there are the cravings that whisper to us in a voice sharp as steel, persistent as the hum of a blade held close to the skin.

It’s not about destruction, not really. It’s about the ritual. The control in the chaos. The precision of it all. That damn blade—silent yet screaming its allure—becomes something more than metal. It’s a story in the making, a bridge to something unspoken.

I laugh it off, because what else can I do? Jokes make it easier to carry. But deep down, I know it’s not about need or want. It’s about the way that sliver of steel understands me better than I do myself, the way it draws out truths I didn’t know I was hiding.

Some addictions aren’t meant to destroy—they’re meant to remind you you’re still alive, even if only for a moment.