Can I describe the feeling,

of panic that I felt?

When I realized it was gone,

that the cold blade had left?

How I searched my room,

with rising alarm.

Seeking for the knife,

that I had used so often on my arm.

Inside my dresser,

or the blankets of my bed.

Forcing back tears,

my vision spotting red.

But what's worse is the feeling,

of relief that I felt.

When I saw it sticking under my pillow,

gleaming with knowledge of all the pain it had dealt.

And can I describe the confusion,

that I'm feeling as I write?

How could I love something so much,

that has literally cut into my life?

See there was once a time,

when I didn't understand those who hurt.

When they took a blade to themselves,

using the pain to convey their unspoken words.

And sometimes I look back,

and blink away tears.

Because I had been so innocent,

during those childhood years.

And how can I describe the relief,

that fills inside my head.

When I take the newfound blade to my skin,

and cut until I see red.

And I once promised no,

said it wouldn't happen again.

But words are just words,

and this blade is my inability to repent.

See, emotions are strange things

for I feel both hate and love.

As I grip this blade tighter,

and pray tearfully to the God above.

That perhaps I'll have the strength,

on this cold and lonely night.

To say no to the addiction,

to blink the shadows from my sight.

So instead I'll come back here,

take a breath and just write.

The addiction may not be gone,

but at least I'm trying to do what's right.