Cuts

Don't think I'm depressed,
'Cause I'm not at all.
I'm just stressed
And about to fall.

So, put a knife in my hand
To make another cut.
This drive I cannot stand
Which seems queer but,

It drives me insane,
This urge I feel
To act inhumane
With a thin piece of steel.

I just like to see it run,
The beautiful crimson red.
So it must be done,
And I'm already dead.

Just let me do it:
Put this knife to my skin
To help deal with this shit,
'Cause of how stressed I've been.

I don't like the pain,
Just the action that I do.
My reason is slain.
Don't think I hate you.

I don't hat the world;
I'm just so confused,
A roaming girl
Who's just lit a fuse.

I don't know what to do
Since I'm feeling this way.
To tell you what's true,
I can feel the decay

Of my mind that is trapped
Within my skull
With problems that are strapped
To my inner hull.

I try to put them on the outside,
To get the decay out.
My rationale has died
And I want to shout.

I need some help
With my mental instability.
I'll make no yelp
'Cause I lack the ability.

I'm falling to pieces!
For no such reason.
My mind has diseases,
And not from the season.