First Its..

Another poem for Lit Class. This one talks abotu an old habit of mine.

First it is a knife.
And then it is like candy, slowly dissolving in my stomach.
And then it is like a sense of relaxation.
And now it becomes a habit.
And now it is history and in the past.
And now it is lost in the dark reaches of my mind, maybe for an escape.
And now I am at peace and free, from the reaches of my Habit.