X-acto

Layman's scalpel;
It will do what I want.
This will be the second time;
The first still leaves its purple track across my arm.

Unless I am careful, they'll find me
And cluck their tongues
And wonder at the suicide on the floor,
Never considering that I only needed that moment;
The one where the blade is ripping through the flesh.

The weaker but sharper pain of the incision
momentarily taking my attention away from
the dull throb of
my existence.

My instruments are ready; the knife
(would a box knife be better?),
the solitude, the wipe-up cloth.
All that's left is to decide
which arm gets the scar this time,
the right or the left.