Self-Inflicted Scars

80 9 6
                                    

Author's Note: Just because I wrote this poem does not mean I am encouraging you to cut yourself or harm yourself in any way. I wrote this poem simply to get an idea of why a cutter cuts and how it might lead to suicide. Thank you for reading it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The red drops fall on the ground,

the tears of the skin.

I hold the blade, the cutter, the

silver that's stained by my blood.

It is my hero, my paintbrush.

I carve beauty, my body is a

canvas. I cut the pain away,

my imperfections.

The spilt blood is my saving

grace, red is beauty.

Sometimes I want to cut away

until heartbeats fade.

Sometimes I just want to

commit suicide. Maybe next time,

my skin cries, I will die.

AWhere stories live. Discover now