Razor for conscience

you revel in calling me       
a Cutter, Substitute me with       
three Letters       
of sarcastic sympathy,       
and gratify yourself with your        
Sanity.       
poke me to justify myself, make me think of        
keen edges Cluttering my Shelf.        
you fuel your Witty sadism and intolerance   
with my Cancer, and imagine my Grimace, Aware that I fumble for        
Answers.       
       
I dont want you in my shoes,       
but someday might you lose       
       
the touch of a loved hand, or the shade of a homely manor       
nourished with honest labor.       
Find yourself on an Electrocuted land,        
       
Find you have been put to Use, And running short of muscle Fibres to        
flee from a        
Rational Machine        
Not so unlike you.