The Cut
Sitting on my bed
I know I must do it.
I'm scared.
He must be close.
I take out the razor and
Raise my left arm.
Without hesitation
It slices my skin like butter.
The scars cover my arms,
Reminders of the past few months.
How long must this go on?
The blood spills out,
Almost making me sick.
I wrap it and wait,
Shaking from the pain.
An hour passes,
It's still slightly bleeding.
Good, I'm safe.
I feel slight relief
But it does not last.
He may be far from now,
But who knows what will happen
When I make the next cut.