I never thought of myself as a cutter
                                                  or even someone                
                                         ­                      who could understand cutting.

Lately, though
                   I realize that         you      
                                     are the razor that I use                
           to cut myself
                                         when my heart needs to bleed.
                                                                                        
It isn’t healthy.                       It isn’t Right                                     or Left
                                                                   or anywhere in between.
       It has been happening, though
                                                           for quite a while.               
                                         ­                                                          Years, even.
        
There were others before you.
                                There may be more after you
                                                           ­    (though I hope not).
                              You have been my favorite.

I have had much to learn
                       in order to become
        the version of myself
                                                that I deserve.

For instance:
                I am so used to punishment
         and being wrong
                                that I feel
             incomplete frustrated               aimless                        
                                                                ­   without it.

When I deny myself the bliss of your touch
                                the sweet joy of release in my surrender
                 I am able to punish myself. Then
                        I have the twisted comfort I seek.
           I can breathe again
                                                even though it be sick air.

As I write this
             I find that I am finally sickened enough by the sick air!

I am ever so grateful to you for being gentle
                                when you pulled back the curtains
      and let the light in on my sickness
                   though I wonder if you even knew what you were doing.

I do not wish to let you pass by untasted.      
            You feel perfectly delicious to me.                 
                        Like home,                   
          though I know not how to explain or quantify that
                                              and I do not want to scare you.

I feel vulnerable now.
                                                             Is the way I feel for you                       simply another facet
                                                           of the sickness?

My instinct says run
                   to you                               away from you
                                                              ­       at breakneck speeds.
                                           Go! Go! Go!

I want to crash into you
                                      with reckless abandon
              succumb my whole being
                                       to the pleasures of
                                                              ­     exploring you.

I also want to fake my own death
                            leave the country
                                         so I never have to see your face again
                 though I know you will always haunt me
                                                               ­       no matter how far I go.

                                  That is why I’m still here.