What's the Worst thing I can Say?

The metallic blade soothed my fingertips as I held it centimeters from my wrist. This blade was no ordinary pencil-sharpener blade, it was a silver exact-o-knife blade, the ones used to tear clear into magazines for collages. This blade costs a fortune; it can cut through thin, one sheeted parcels up to thick newspapers. Once, Mikey was feeling creative and cut a phonebook in half to plaster on his wall with this little tool.

I decided to wait until later: I didn't want to stain my pajamas. Hours passed, and it was 5 o clock already. I walked in my closet and chose a Black Sabbath tee and a matching 'we sold our soul to rock 'n roll' hoodie. Jeans, like usual, were black accompanied by converse. I pulled my backpack to my shoulder and ran out the house. But of course, not without my blade.

Notes

:D New Chapter, and I love feedback!