memoirs of a cutter

Life of a silhouette,
Our shadows dancing on the walls.
The law of the switchblade,
The mercy of it all.
Hearts skip a beat,
Achilles tendon goes raw.
Heart wide open splattered on the wall.
Blood shot eyes, dirty cuticles; something simple.
Something futile and beautiful.
Dialated pupils one jar did it all.
Scratching at the exterior with a heavy heart, blade...like a saw.
You overlook these things time and time again.
Always wondering where exactly all the pain went.
Maybe delivered by tears once cried at school because you couldn't decide.
Maybe delivered upon the wings of an angel a fundamental joy ride.
Either way was or were your fingers numb you start to slurr.
Memories can be retrieved by the snap of god's fingers.
Showing you at your best and often at your worst.
--
I recall a winter day.
It was cold and lonesome,
so was the blade.
My fingers were numb, a heart with frostbite.
Another painful day, another tear filled night.
Looking back, I don't have much to say.
Except that I've changed and I want to keep it that way.
--
The law of the switchblade is still around now.
A different policy, and a different gesture.
My life changed so much,
my heart no longer aches at the feeling of a touch.

Its a different and warm feeling deep withing my chest.
Its a cold and prickly feeling upon my skin,
this rush that I'm living in.
Its abundant, and exploding with love.
Care and affection, nothing ever so beautiful.

I have had people behind me one hundred precent.
I have the arms of an angel that will help me just vent.
I have the voice of a saint that calms me down.
I converse with a apostle who helps me work everything out.
I have the help of an ego that gets me through everything I need to do.
I am safe, from myself.

Thanks to everyone who has helped me,
thanks to my own hard work.
Thanks to the love I shared with everyone after the occurance, and thanks to my spirit.
I am cured.