Cut a little nick,
Just a little slice.
It's so small,
You don't think twice.

In a morbid kind of way,
It feels really cool.
Like picking a scab,
Though I could call you fool.

The razor ever sharp,
Cutting clean and smooth.
Cutting for no reason,
Other than to prove.

That you can take it,
You aren't weak.
But now you cut,
And now you never speak.

No longer do you brag,
Now you only feel.
Like you cut because you want,
Because the blood's so real.

You don't feel shame,
You don't really care.
You wish the helping friends,
Would get out of you're hair.

Truth be told,
You want to slip.
But of course,
Your friends would flip.

The razor's kind of dull now,
A little rusty too.
But you don't want a new one,
After all that you've been through.

So you use the same old blade,
Sometimes cut too deep.
Come that much closer,
To neverending sleep.

It happens everyday now,
New scars appear,
The cutting is now,
Becoming blood-red clear.

Your mom sees the cuts,
She screams and yells for hours.
This is one punishment,
That won't be healed by flowers.

She tears apart the bathroom,
Searching for your blade.
Of course she doesn't find it,
It's in the hiding spot you made.

A small crack between tiles,
No thicker than a dime.
There sits the razor,
Used so many times.

You're so mad,
What does your mom know??
She was a teenager too,
But so long ago.

She has no idea,
She has no clue.
All the emotions,
Felt by only you.

So one last time,
You take out the steel.
Cut deeper and deeper,
Till you no longer feel.

The blood runs down the drain,
Red beyond belief.
Colour fades to black,
Eternal relief.