Cut Poem by lucymary bartholomew

cutting means the worls to me
i find it as an escape from reality
just looking at the red flowing sea
i now its bad but i feel the urge to cut
i nee new coping skills
somethoing to get out of this rut
knifes, scissors, piece of cup, anything sharp
is my favorite toys
cutting is like the lullybuy of a magical harp
the peeling of fresh flesh
is an adrenaline rush
the badages, the soft mesh
i need to stop cutting but i cant
i need to keep busy
i need to stop cutting but i cant...i cant...i cant