I slice through the air, bring it down on my wrist,
To hold back my cringe, my hand turns into a fist.
I drag the sharp edge 'cross the skin on my arm,
Little do most know that I'm into self harm.
The pain now subsides, the blood starts to flow free,
My emotions go with it, though most cannot see
The true me, for I hide it behind a bright smile,
No one's truly seen the real me in a while.
I bandage my wounds to promote faster healings,
I lose sight of the blood, I lose sight of my feelings.
With my cuts nicely dressed and my urge drawing weak,
I pack up my tools, though I still feel quite bleak.
I put my tools away, safely hidden now, but...
I might have to use them the next time I cut.