The Cuts

You can hate me and call me names,
But cutting isn't a game.
I'll believe it all, sit against my wall
And watch the blood will fall.
You can call me ugly, or call me dumb,
Then I'll cut til my arm is numb.
It hurts but I don't care,
Because it erases this nightmare.

The call it life, but I call it jail,
Because the mental pain is hell.
I may not look sad,
But don't be mad.
On the inside I'm torn apart,
And I want to rip out my heart.
I've been bullied and cussed,
But I've never fussed.

To forget about life,
I just grab my knife.
And cut and cut some more,
Because the knife opens a door.
My skin opens and pain leaves,
And drips on to my sleeves.
I leave this pain filled place,
As my heart begins to race.

I enter my own place,
Where I do things at my own pace.        
But I'll soon be back,
But now my world is black.
As I sit and make the cuts.