December 7, 2011
By Anonymous

Sitting with my back to the wall
I feel numb
The handle is cool in my palm
Ivory against skin
Head resting on the pale blue walls of this cage
My knees curled to my chest
Feet touching the soft faded carpet
But I don’t feel soft
I feel empty
I slide my left palm
The one that’s free
Through my hair
Fingers through my hair
My hand like a feather
It sighs back to my thigh
I close my brown eyes
My lashes tickle my cheek
Faint yellow glow from the lamp
So tired
Always have been
Hear a clatter in the kitchen
Keep my eyes closed and listen
Listen to them fight
My face is calm
My breathing even
Nothing is different
The cycle repeats
He yells
She cries
A noise
Drift through memories
Happier times never existed
But in Fairytales
My jean shorts hug my legs
Fingernails chipped with black paint
Pick at the loose thread on my sweater
Right hand slips across an ivory handle
Maybe the cycle doesn’t have to continue
Not for me
I’ve been thinking
A soft piece of paper in my pocket
Soft and crinkled from indecision
From folding
With my eyes closed
My left hand reaches for the arm of my sweater
I pull it up
Up past my elbow
I stop and breathe
Grip the ivory handle
Feel the smooth blade
Place it against my wrist
Feeling nothing
Press harder
Feeling nothing
Press harder
I’m going to explode
Take a deep breath
Press as hard as you can
Exhale it’s through
Drag as far up as you can
Can’t breathe
No more screams
No more light
No more screaming in my head
The smell
It smells like blood
One more second and it’s over
I can tell
I’m choking
Can’t breathe
Fall over
It’s all red
It’s all dark
It’s all quiet
I’m gone

The author's comments:
My bestfriend used to cut herself. I was inspired to write this for her and every other cutter that shares these feelings.

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