Perfect Cuts

What am I doing?
Why can’t I stop?
I did it again
But I had no reason
Except for the fact
That I wanted to see blood

Is this some demented disease?
Why is it that I
Take no pleasure in pain
But find such beauty
In that which I get
Only through causing myself pain?

Tonight though
I felt no depression
Not even the slightest bit
And yet for some reason
I grabbed my razor
And tore open my skin
Not even while I was alone
But talking to friends

My new razor is perfect
The same one from Thursday
It’s so very thin
But so very sharp
It’ll go plenty deep
But keep the cut thin
At least then
It’ll heal better
Then when it was with my knife

So much blood came
It took so long to stop
It made me feel alive
Truly and completely alive
The best of all
There was no pain
So much blood
But no pain at all

They were the perfect cuts
Like no other
All the others brought pain
But these
Although stinging slightly now
Had no pain the whole time
That they bled for me

If only I could save
The blood I lost tonight
Not in my body
No use for it there
But in something
I could see everyday
To remind me of these perfect cuts
I should feel remorse
I should be ashamed
But I can’t help but boast
About these darling marks
These perfect little cuts