Just A Cut


I unfold the paper
That holds the contents
Of just what I need.
The blade is cold, smooth and sharp.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I just can't seem to get satisfied.
It burns.
I splash water on the cuts;
Loving the tingling sensation
That I receive.
I seem to be back down the hill.
Is there a way back up?
I've been thinking of this
For a while now
And now it is actually
What once is a cut
Can turn into a bloody mess.


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