No one understands.
No one knows what it's like not to die.
No one knows what it's like to perish thousands of times, yet still be alive.
I wish someone understood.
But here I stand, blade in hand once again.
I bring it down to my arm and cut.
Once, twice, thrice, over and over again I bring the blade down.
The cuts heal fast, they always do, that's just part of being me.
I can't even have my scars to remind me.
So I bring the blade down still, no pause for thought.
And then I stop.
I breathe.
I can go on another day.