It's Not Worth the Cut [Unless You See Blood]
It's Not Worth the Cut [Unless You See Blood]
it's not worth the cut
unless you see blood
it's not worth the time
if there's no red on the knife
it's not worth the screaming & crying
unless your screaming & crying & bleeding
when you press the knife down
on skin of pale white
and rock it back & forth
until you see red
rising up from pale flesh
then it's worth the cut
because of the dark & sticky blood
i sit in the Wal-Mart bathroom
& cut
i sit in the library bathroom
& cut
i sit in front of music on my computer
& cut to the pain in their metallic voices
4 years i've wasted on scratches & nicks
4 years i've wasted on faded scars
4 years i've wasted on coat hangers & thumb tacks
in 2 weeks i've discovered the joy of a cut
in 2 weeks i've discovered the beauty of blood
in 2 weeks i found my reflection in the knife
hidden among the cigarettes i smoke in pain
hidden among the washcloth that hides the blood
hidden among the pills that i use so wrongly & so right
hidden among the make up that hides my eyes
hidden among scraps of paper covered in lines
hidden in my purse you'll find the knife
my skin is raw & red & scabbed
you can hear the pride in my voice
"it only took 1 cut this time"
i cut new flesh that's smooth & pale & pure
you can hear the disappointment in my voice
"it took 3 FUCKING cuts this time!"
i don't know why i started this time
i don't feel fat & my life was going fine
i had friends & a therapist this time
but then one day there was yelling & fights
and i stabbed my wrists, smokes needed a light
& i tried pills & a knife for the first time
and i still don't know what's so wrong with my life
--------
I wrote that poem before I went to the mental institution in October of '05.
it's not worth the cut
unless you see blood
it's not worth the time
if there's no red on the knife
it's not worth the screaming & crying
unless your screaming & crying & bleeding
when you press the knife down
on skin of pale white
and rock it back & forth
until you see red
rising up from pale flesh
then it's worth the cut
because of the dark & sticky blood
i sit in the Wal-Mart bathroom
& cut
i sit in the library bathroom
& cut
i sit in front of music on my computer
& cut to the pain in their metallic voices
4 years i've wasted on scratches & nicks
4 years i've wasted on faded scars
4 years i've wasted on coat hangers & thumb tacks
in 2 weeks i've discovered the joy of a cut
in 2 weeks i've discovered the beauty of blood
in 2 weeks i found my reflection in the knife
hidden among the cigarettes i smoke in pain
hidden among the washcloth that hides the blood
hidden among the pills that i use so wrongly & so right
hidden among the make up that hides my eyes
hidden among scraps of paper covered in lines
hidden in my purse you'll find the knife
my skin is raw & red & scabbed
you can hear the pride in my voice
"it only took 1 cut this time"
i cut new flesh that's smooth & pale & pure
you can hear the disappointment in my voice
"it took 3 FUCKING cuts this time!"
i don't know why i started this time
i don't feel fat & my life was going fine
i had friends & a therapist this time
but then one day there was yelling & fights
and i stabbed my wrists, smokes needed a light
& i tried pills & a knife for the first time
and i still don't know what's so wrong with my life
--------
I wrote that poem before I went to the mental institution in October of '05.