Dear Cutter,
It's hard to stop. You begin to rely on it, that blade. Those scars. When they start disappearing, you feel lost. Hopeless. That blade becomes your friend, those scars become your life line.
And what are you?
A human marionette, stringed to the blade. The pain. The feelings of anger, sadness. Your lost without a map. Without anyone to be your guide. Happiness a long forgotten memory. Nothing matters....
Crying has become a habit...one you cannot break.
Scars, new and old. Brown and red, litter your body like a sick road map, each one representing a different reason to cry.
To sob in the dark, when no one can hear you.
To want desperately to die.
In the dark, no one can see you cry.
In the crowd, no one can hear you scream.
Behind your smile, no one can see your pain.
Under your sleeves and long pants, no one can see your scars.
And if they could....
Would they believe it?
Would they believe the reasons that you have to hurt yourself?
Maybe not.
And why?
Because you smile a fake smile to hide your real feelings, as not to stress anyone out. You hide everything.
And there you are again....
Grabbing that blade. Cutting your skin. For what?
Haven't you ever thought of a good reason to cut?
Well, there is no good reason..
You don't have to...
So please, put down that blade...
Wipe those eyes...
I'm here...
Please notice me...
~You
