by Nick Gisburne
She cuts herself, to take away the pain,
The pressure, building, pushing, always there.
A merciless and unrelenting strain,
It drags her to the threshold of despair.
She cuts herself, for blessed, sweet release,
A chance to test the limits of her skin.
The bleeding brings her poetry, and peace.
It drains the deep anxiety within.
She cuts herself, but no one else must know.
Without it she believes her heart would burst.
She wakes that warm, intoxicating glow,
Before the dreams, her demons, find it first.
She does it just to know she will survive.
She cuts herself, to keep herself alive.
