A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I have to tell all my readers that I am a cutter and all of Mark's thoughts, I have like many others, thought myself. So, you're getting authentic cutter information here. Glad to know I'm not alone on this. Thanks again for the reviews.

Chapter 2: A Cutter's Lullaby

I sigh and glance at my watch for the umpteenth time that day. We've been sitting here reminiscing with Collins for hours. Luckily it's just Collins, Roger, and myself. It feels good to not have Maureen or Joanne around for once. It's a little unnerving to have their perfect relationship everywhere I go when I can't even have the one I love. (A/N: 3 guess who.) Collins pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Mark!" I jerk my head upwards to look at him. "Damn boy, I've been saying your name for the past 3 minutes. You okay?"

I fake a smile. "Yeah, I was just space cadetting there for a minute." I say sitting up in my chair properly. In the process I bang my leg into the table. Thus, reopening the shallow cut I made earlier this morning. I hissed and cursed under my breath. Roger speaks up and asks me if I'm fine. I am tempted to tell him to define the word fine. Instead I offer him a half assed lie. "Yeah I just stubbed my toe on the table leg here. Hey guys, I'm getting a little tired. I think I'm gonna head on back home." This should be an easy get away.

"Here let me go with you." Roger offers standing up.

"No!" I said too eagerly. "I mean…I kinda wanna be alone. You know to think and stuff." Roger seems to understand because he sat back down. "I'll see you later guys." I race out the door and sigh in relief as a gust of wind hits my face. I am reminded of the reason I left by a sharp pain in my right leg. "Fuck!" I hiss and start on my way home.

It takes me about half an hour to get back to the loft. I close the door and take off my jacket. By the time I get to the bathroom the bleeding subsides. I clean up the wound and head into my room. Making sure my door is locked I pull out my poetry book. That's another thing people don't know about me. I'm a poet, and a good one, if I may say so myself. When I'm done writing a poem, I read it aloud to myself.

Life can't hurt more than it already does.

So he cuts himself.

He prays that the physical pain,

Will be superior to the emotional.

When he's in that sate,

His mind isn't very reasonable.

He isn't thinking properly.

No, he never thinks about how it will affect people.

Like his friends and family.

Even if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop.

A cutter without a sharp object,

Is like a junkie without a needle.

One is nothing without the other.

The man does not notice.

Notice how he is killing himself slowly.

Actually I think he does see.

He just doesn't care.

Denial is just a river in Egypt,

And he's sinking deep.

Acceptance is the first step,

Btu he's way beyond help.

Rehab didn't quite work for him,

So he faked his way out.

They thought he was better.

They thought he stopped.

In all reality,

He just got better at hiding.

I finish reading it and try to decide on a title. I don't think it needs one though. Man, I can't believe I forgot about rehab. I remember when my parents sent me there. They found me cutting in the bathroom one night. So they thought I needed help. It was surprisingly easy to fake being better. Even easier to get my parents to believe I stopped. I'm just that good. I close my notebook and put it in its hiding place underneath my bottom mattress. I sit back against my wall and all of a sudden I'm woozy. Whoa! I think I lost a little too much blood for one day. Before I know it, I'm asleep.

-A few hours later-

I am woken up by the sound of muffled voices. One voice speaks up and all I can make out is, "Worried" and "Marky". That must be the drama queen, Maureen, herself. Then I catch, "I know me too." That sounds like Collins. I let them talk in hushed tones before I decide to make an entrance. Making sure none of my marks can be seen, I walk out into the lion's den. Maureen attacks me with hugs.

"Mo! Get off. Damn, I just woke up." She complies and goes to sit on Joanne's lap. I smile a sad smile at those two. They have the perfect relationship and what am I stuck with? "A razor that'll never die on you." The back off my mind tells me. I shake my head to rid myself of that not so innocent thought.

Collins comes over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Mark, you're our friend, our family. What I'm trying to say is that we're all extremely worried about you. You've been working a lot. You are getting to where you can wear size anorexic and you look like shit." Size anorexic? I'm not that skinny. Am I? I laugh a little.

"Guys, I'm fine. I'm just tired and my appetite has been…" Roger cuts me off.

"Non existent?" I openly glare at him.

"No, I just haven't had much of one lately. Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine." Fucked Up Insecure Neurotic and Emotional. Just F.I.N.E! They seem to take my excuses, but I'm not sure how long that'll last. I begin to make my way back to my room, but before I reach the door my balance wavers a little. The last thing I hear is Roger's concerned voice screaming my name.

So there's that chapter. R&R

That poem that Mark "wrote" was mine. I wrote it. What do you guys think?