Razors pain you, little cuts here and there.
You feel a sting in the shower, it hurts you knew it was going to happen, it always hurts after you cut.
But right after you feel a little relief, the high never lasts long enough.
I drag the blade across my skin again, hoping to get enough courage to press down.

In my little garden
Is newly
A festival of colors
Yellow
Grey
Red
Orange
And …

I told him I’m on day 11 of not self-harming.
He seemed like he didn’t care, I’m sorry I told you.
I thought you would be interested in knowing since you said you loved me.
He agreed with me when I said it doesn’t matter how many days I have stopped I will always be a cutter.
He said yep, he agreed.
So, if I will always be labeled as a cutter and the world will continue to see me that way, why shouldn’t I continue slicing up my arms and wrists and be what people will always see me as.
Recovery is challenging I should know, why waste all that time when I could be feeling high.
Why stop my unhealthy habit if I love it?
Why stop if you will see me as a cutter for the rest of my life any way?

In every mind
There's always hidden
A tranquility
To poetry

One night
A snail said
To a cocoon
Work without a wage
Is wasting the life,,,

We are unaware
Of the end
Of things
What could we say
At the beginning

If you love the poor
You lose nothing but become rich in goodness

Don't worry
Be happy
for tomorrow

If you feel too much
Have a great desire
To become a luminous
Like a dream
Shut your eyes
Of all things earthly