Confessions of a Cutter

Scars and shapes along my skin,
Mark the places I have been,
Tell the story of the path I chose,
And remind me of the demons I loath.

The scarlet marks of pain that sting,
Yell stories of the things I’ve seen,
The tortured and forever maimed,
Where most just choke and look away.

The cuts from which crimson rivers flow,
Let escape the ghosts I hold,
That once were a part of my life,
but were murdered under the stress and strife.

The blade that likes to feed on my limbs,
Carves angry sketches into my skin,
Carves images of my past,
so my pain will forever last.

The long and never ending scabs,
Reveal me for what I truly am,
A cutter bleeding in the night,
Who gave up the will to fight.

A girl who cuts,
So the word will know,
Its not so easy to just ‘ let go’

So the words, forever engraved,
Along my wrists ,and down my veins,
Will forever let the world know,
My story and the path I chose.