| Cuts |
| Resist it, I scream at myself But I can't. I need to do it Need to feel it cut and see it bleed Just need to feel it, feel something, anything. Snd I look at my bedside table Upon which my razor lays I can see the glint of silver Inviting; "use me", it says. And so I pick it ip, Running my finger along the blade Then, where to do it today Where should these new ones be made? And then I think, do I want them to know? Do I want them to see what I've done? No. That doesn't matter anymore I just need the blood to run. So I find a hidden spot It doesn't matter where And I mark along it with my razor And then I cut, with little care. It takes a few seconds And then the blood begins to rise To the surface of my skin, And my pain, for a while dies. I watch the blood, Willing it, willing more to run But no more, come to what now, Must more cuts be done? I know that tomorrow They'll come up, a long red scar And I'll look at them and hope, That today I won't take it too far. |
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