Cuts (unfinished)

He made me do it, I didn't mean to
Now I can't stop, need to feel the release
Slowly the blade drags across my skin
Each time pressing harder and harder
Watching the blood trickle down my arm
Soaking up the freedom from within
Once, twice maybe three times a day
Well that's what it used to be anyway
Now it's more like nine maybe ten
Just doing it over again and again
It's the only thing that I can control
The depth, the direction, the pain
I only wish that I could stop cutting
For the next time may be my last.