He saved me in a way Satan would save someone. Nonetheless, he saved me. His voice echoed the words I wanted to hear at just the right tone and pitch to shatter glass. Of which I picked up a shard, my very own blade to feel something. An endless supply of words which granted me the gift of cutting, the gift of life. My shards drug across my skin and I had a purpose. Yes I was doing the Devil’s work, but the point was that I was doing something. I was living…feeling….bleeding. His voice the purity which brought so much pain. So much towards the backwards step in survival.