I like
I hate
I feel it
I love it
The thrill
The darkness of it
The razor slicing into that beautifully white skin of mine
The sudden thrill of watching the blood ooze out
You may think I’m insane?
Well am I insane?
Probably
This is like an art to me
Like the razor is the brush
And my skin is the paper
But the paint is always blood red
You may say I need help.
But who are you to say?
Who are you to pry?
Who are you in this life of mine?
If it’s my life I can do what I want with it.
And I do say myself it is my life.
You’re asking why I do it.
Oh for the thrill of course
My inner most reason why?
Because of the way the students are to me, because of the way they treat me, because I want to feel something other than hurt.
My counselor’s mouth pops open...at last I’ve told her the truth