The Last Final Time

He had told himself countless times it was the last time. Yet, he was aware he'd repeat this mantra, promising himself it truly would be the final act. He wiped his hands and examined himself, focused on the immediate cause, tragically neglecting the long-term consequences. He knew his actions inflicted a deeper hurt than he could yet grasp, but his heart remained unyielding. He ignored the grim negativity, seduced by fleeting, insignificant pleasures. Through his willful ignorance, his actions had crippled his own well-being. The cure was available, yet he'd convinced himself it held a deadly sting. The treatment for his self-inflicted curse existed, but he'd grown strangely comfortable with it, as if it were a twisted blessing. What choice did he have, then, but to repeat this cycle endlessly, each time convincing himself this truly would be the last? He believed it was merely a part of him, but the terrible irony was that it had become him, and he, it.