The stinging and burning of red
Trickling down, a small river
Sliced skin
Warm blood
Cutting is so rewarding
And so shaming
What right do I have to cut
My life isn't bad
Why do I suffer
Why are there thick rivers traveling down my thighs
I'm suffocating
Another slice
I can breathe again
The rose red river rises again
Thickening with every new cut
The burning feels deserved
The stinging, wanted
Why do I cut?
I deserve it,
It's easier to focus on
Rather than my actual problems,
The addiction.
Cutting was my drug.
I promise myself never again
Never again will I see such perfection
So much pain in one moment
My warm waning weeping thighs
Beg me to stop
I listen for now
Blood-stained razors are put away
I clean up
I'm done
