The Power in the Pain
Cold hard steel.
Unconcerned one way or another.
Always there, always reliable.
Against warm, smooth skin
giving way to the softest touch.
Vulnerable, exposed.
and. . . slash. . .
Burst of blinding pain
red hot, burning.
Then. . . nothing.
The good, the bad, the ugly
It's all gone.
Now, you're able to go on.
Unconcerned one way or another.
Always there, always reliable.
Against warm, smooth skin
giving way to the softest touch.
Vulnerable, exposed.
and. . . slash. . .
Burst of blinding pain
red hot, burning.
Then. . . nothing.
The good, the bad, the ugly
It's all gone.
Now, you're able to go on.
♠ ♠ ♠
I've have no opinions on the act of cutting. I've participated in the past, but haven't done it in years. This poem is based on a memory. I believe it was actually the last time I inflicted an injury on myself.