Birth of the Cut

The creation of a self-injurious moment in time.

Heart pounding,
Blood boils and burns
Anger stews in my gut,
It festers and grows as we
Twist and turn down an
Unclear path.

Is there a destination, I wonder?

The more clear I try to be,
The more anger it breeds.
You avoid and blame and dance an
Ugly dance of denial.

Now all I want
Is to feel the jagged edge
Against my flesh
Ripping and spewing,
Sensing the sting
Warming the wound,
Soothing my soul.

This ache in my body craves life
It pounds at my chest waiting for
An answer.
The pit deepens and moves
But it cannot breathe inside me;
It needs air!

Finally.....
HATE etched into my skin
Gives it life.