Fire

The slope is slippery, you know this, the swirling vortex will take you with it and you have to fight it so not to drown. You feign resistance but slice the knife deeper and deeper into your skin. Relax into the warm thick stream of blood, the momentary relief it offers. Only when it sticks to your skin, plasters against your cheek do you realize it is but quicksand and you only fall further in by indulging it. The weather turns sweltering. 

You know it will pass, a hundred times you repeat it to yourself, it will pass. 

The only question is, who will you be when it does?