The slow movement of the blade cuts me
It cuts my confidence
It cuts my esteem
And creates an incision in my stability
And as it cuts, I bleed out the thick raw feeling of anxiousness
and bitterness
All until I can put on another mask again
Until I can smile
All until another day ends
All until I can no longer cry
All until my soaked pillow dries
The slow movement of the blade cuts me
I can no longer stop the feeling of emptiness to which nothing fills
The useless collection of masks that I wear have no effect
And so the blade continues to trace my tattered skin
And I continue to bleed
