I feel the blade dig into my skin.
The feelings of depression released from within.
The blood leaks out from my cut.
As I keep my teary eyes shut,
Blood has always scared me.
I couldn't bare it just to see.
But just the feel of the blade
Makes me feel powerful, makes me want to fade.
All these feelings of cutting and suicide
Will eventually break me down inside.
Eventually I will have the courage to die.
But the question is 'Is it worth it, and why? '
Every slice I make is each problem I face.
My life is worth nothing, it's such a disgrace.
Why is it that I continue to live?
I have nothing to live for, nothing to give.
Living forever it may be,
But without the razor I cannot see.
Cutting is my internal release.
And with every cut I say 'Please'.
Please allow my heart to cope,
Please give me help, give me hope,
Please make life better for me.
For being a cutter is not what I want to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.