Just what i was feelin when i did this

Cutting.//
Slicing.//
I take the blade and allow it to graze my skin lightly~I dare mylself to take the challenge
of pressing harder.//
Harder.//
Harder.//
Until I can feel nothing~but the sharpness piercing my nerves~making a pain like no other
shoot throughout my body.//
I torture myself on the outside in efforts of relieving the pain on the inside//
the deep pain within that consumes my mind.//
Each cut I make represents a piece of my soul being cut and analyzed by me//
Each cut that I make represents a reason for my self-loathe.//
I etch the racing thoughts of my mind, or sometimes I just cut.//
I etch sticks to remember the insults that were thrown my way, and which will soon
restrict me to being what I am expected.//
I stop cutting when I have nothing more//
Nothing more at all.//
My skin heals//
I pick at the scabs which serve as a temporary reminder of the previous actions.//
My skin is reddend, but clear nonetheleast.//
Clear of cuts and remnants of cuts.//
I have no signs of the afflictions of hurt and pain to stare at anymore.//
This is only a temporary fix, because at the end of the week, when all is said and done.//
I’ll retreat to my room again.//
And make my body the canvass, and my thoughts the paint.//