Copyright Bikki

With the knife that I bring,
I numb my skin,
Then I cut like I’m using a saw.
It kills at first,
But then it doesn’t hurt,
Because I feel nothing any more.

As I deepen my cut,
I can feel my blood,
Rushing and weakening me.
Although I don’t bleed,
With each cut I succeed,
In making myself happy.

I’m not suicidal,
This won’t be my final,
Just one single cut of my many.
But if I was loved,
By heaven above,
Then maybe I wouldn’t have any.

I just love how,
I’m feeling right now,
Because I’ve done something so bold.
It’s lovely to touch,
My newly-made cuts,
Because some skin’s warm and some’s cold.

But don’t you be bad,
Don’t dare to get me mad,
Or you’ll end up in a state of bliss.
It’s not really self-harm,
It’s only my arm,
But next time it could be my wrist.


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