Cuts
My wrists are clean and scar free.
So is my stomach and hips
My thighs are a different story
Sliding the ravor horazontaily across the skin
Watching the red liquid that used to be warm now cold
The stinging sensation
Satisfiting my thirst for relief
But it is temorary
Then I have to it again and again
Till I'm about to bleed out
So I repalse it with scratches
The red outlines burning
Running my nails over the cuts
Feeling an excushiating sting
Only makes me smirk
