My fresh wound burns & stings with each flick of the wrist,
with each twist of the hand,
with each reminder of the razor's sharp kiss.

My mind is racing with guilt & shame & remorse;
I wish I could take it back;
I fear this has set me off course.

I don't want to think of it anymore, I don't want to write about it, I don't want to see it.
Bandage it up & let it stitch itself together - I'm done.