Don't tell me,
here I go again.
The girl who
keeps her secrets
in her skin.
Then cuts it up
to bleed, therein
I will not tell a soul.

But then I need
to hear the words.
That wanting this
is not absurd,
and not that this
cannot be cured.
I know I can't
escape from this.

However, wanting this
for so **** long,
yet nothing felt.
No right or wrong.
A pinch of guilt,
the blade's sharp song.
Has made me feel obscure again.