one cut here, once cut there
no one will see, so why do they care?
i’ll keep it to myself,
hidden and all,
“have you cut recently”
“no, i don’t recall”
one turns to two, and two turns to four,
then i just keep cutting more and more.
twenty then thirty, i’m losing control
cutting comes with a price, similar to a toll.
one hundred then two, who would’ve guessed
the secrets that she kept hidden,
beneath that long dress.
sweatpants for now, until those cuts heal,
a heart made of gold, but a brain made from steel.
i’ll do it again, just wait and see,
i’ll never get through recovery.