Violence.

My old friend. I sometimes miss you. The blood running down my face. Always left a salty taste. All the fun we had. Had to come to a stop. Because you were taking control of me. It had to come to an end. You sometimes come back. I always feel enormous guilt when you do. I remember who you made me. I sometimes look in the mirror and see that person. But I am no longer that person. I'm far better than I was.