Rocking back and fourth ,
With a razor in my hand .
I sit and cry and rock ,
Like there's a baby in my lap .
That baby she is
Inconsolable .

I want to put the crying in a car ,
And watch it roll into a lake .
Slide the blade back and fourth ,
Across the thin skin of my wrist .

First a cut ,
And another next to it .
Each time thinking just one more ,
But no , I don't stop .

Line them up tightly ,
A series of bright red screams .

Covering my forearm ,
From my wrist to my inner elbow .
No ,
It's to enough .

I move the blade diagonally across ,
Carving a section of delicate cross-hatchings .

Yes , I think , do it .
Give in , let loose , go crazy .
I'm not afraid .