I Start CuttingMature

I Start Cutting

I find it difficult to believe,

That these things,

They happened back then,

When so much has altered.


Yet my memory,

It says it happened,

My first cut I made,

On a day,

When I pulled mom's chair,

Out from under her,

And she crashed to the ground.


Fortunately for me.

She was completely fine,

And my immediate reaction,

It was "what have I done?"

I never meant these things to happen,

Yet in a state of high emotion,

A person doesn't think.


Mom naturally asked me,

To leave the room,

I went downstairs,

A wooden block,

Of kitchen knives I saw,

A Christmas present,

My aunt gave my mom.


I took the smallest,

And folding back my sleeve,

Ran it over my left wrist,

A quick, smooth action,

Creating a superficial red line.


Opening the cold tap,

I put my wrist in the running water,

The blood it washed off,

I closed the tap,

And dried my wrist.

I rubbed the place,

With aniseptic cream.


Initially shocked,

I convinced myself,

This was merely a one off,

Only it wasn't,

I admit, at seventeen,

I did cut frequently,

Intermittently though,

Rather than continuously.

The End

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