So She Cuts

She loves how a knife confronts her.
Says: “I wish I could slit my wrist and watch all my cares bleed away.”
There’s no way out.
So she cuts.

She feels alone.
Her world around her has been shattered.
Afraid to trust anyone in the vicinity of her.
So she cuts.

She sheds tears of blood.
Soaks herself in misery.
Nowhere to go or no one to turn to.
So she cuts.

She feels trapped.
Distressed in her own skin.
Horror-stricken by the flesh of her own body.
So she cuts.

She’s weak from her sliced veins.
Each one being torn from her lifeless body.
Her beauty being obliterated slowly.
So she cuts.

She doesn’t feel loved.
Her heart completely mutilated.
Broken like a shattered window.
So she cuts.

She lives her life in the darkness.
Evil has taken away her soul.
Voices speak death into her ear.
So she cuts.

She thinks life is pointless.
Death is beautiful.
A worthless disgrace to this life.
So she cuts.

She can’t stop.
The blood that flows from her veins releases the pain.
Addicted she has become.
So she cuts.

She’s drowned.
Trapped in the bottom of a well.
Begs for someone to save her.
So she cuts.

She’s slowly dying.
A few more breaths to take.
Says: “Don’t worry I’ll be fine. Just let me slit my wrist one last time.”
So she cuts, and then…… she’s gone.