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Friday, October 12, 2007


Cutter

Slash. The blood drips down my arm.
Cut. So comforting and warm.
Blood. Thick, rich, and red.
Release. My body feels like lead.
Power. Life and Death in my hand.
Steel. My knife’s make and brand.
Empty. This feeling washes over me.
Cold. I feel so weak, yet free.
Hide. These precious scars of mine.
Cover. These scars they must not find.
Blank. My face becomes a mask.
Smile. Why I do this? Don’t ask.
Sigh. The pain is at its end.
Lonely. It’s like I’ve lost a friend.
Hopeless. This cycle will never end.
Life. A truly meaningless thing.
Fear. What will the new day bring?
Sleep. This battered body will rest.
Go. Until it is taken by death.

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