Cuts - 2/27/2002
I sit on the bathroom floor, razor in hand.My eyes burn, my heart aches.
My world seems to crumble more and more as the days go by.
I slash the razor across my wrist, seeing no blood I continue.
Slashing, cutting.
I finally see trickles of blood streaming from the multiple cuts.
I watch the blood, pretending it is my pain.
My pain runs from the cuts and leaves me.
I watch the blood, pretending it is my loneliness.
My loneliness runs from the cuts and leaves me.
I watch the blood, pretending it is my soul.
My soul runs from the cuts and leaves me an empty shell.
Those without souls can't love, can't hurt, can't ache.
In the absence of feeling needed, feeling loved, feeling self worth
I cut myself to pass the time.
I cut myself to release my sorrows.
I cut myself.
I smear ointment on the cuts, wishing that I didn't need to cut anymore.
Wishing that there was an ointment that would heal the cuts on my soul.
But there isn't so I continue to cut.
AN:Just read it, i really do not want to write a discription for this one...