Novels Not Long Enough (Poetry)

Cuts

I have a friend.

And she cuts herself.

I always look at her with worry.

She smiles at me.

"It's not like I'm trying to kill myself."

she says.

So I asked her,

"What's that for then?"

She replied, "For fun. It keeps me away from depressing things."

After all these time, to be honest,

I never accepted the way she cuts herself.

To be honest, I never will.

But I promised to understand her.

There were things that she felt,

that I will never feel.

Who knows, perhaps, if I felt them, I might cut myself too.

It was that certain understanding that makes us still friends.

But I told her,

"I never got the difference between cutting for fun and suicide.

The only difference was the place to be slit.

I am scared. That one day, your skin will be filled with scars.

And that you'll end up slitting the place where it leads to the end."

She stared at me.

I whispered, "Please, promise me, that you'll control yourself."

"Geez. Thanks."

I have to be fine with that for now.

I won't force her.