CUTTERS

She didn't expect you to understand
Why she died with a razor in her hand.
Blood rushing out from old, scarred veins
Mental hospital had declared her insane.

Head bashing brick walls, rattling her brains
Pulling out her hair, to release misdirected pain.
Submerged in emotions, guilt feelings turned ill
She had to self-inflict, it was her only coping skill.

Razors, glass, knives, burning of skin
Kept her alive from the demons within.
She knew no other way to express herself
What was deep inside, in the fires of hell.

Sexual abuse at a tender, young age
Ashamed to speak out, so filled with rage.
The only way she thought, that there was
To cut deep her wrist, until she drew blood.

To find a release, she thought this the way
To deal with her feelings, not to be displayed.
She covered her scars beneath her clothes
So no one would see, so no one would know.

Classmates teased her all through school
Peer pressure mounting, so was the abuse.
Lonely was the road she did travel
Like a ribbon coming apart, her life unraveled.

Because she thought no one else but she
Was the only one who performed self-injury.
Had she known there were thousands of cutters out there
She could have saved herself, and a life of despair.

So if you're a cutter, I want you to know
There are other ways and means, help is available.
Work hard to change, to find another way
Life can be good, keep it simple, keep the faith.

Poetess:
Lucille
copyright �2003