The cut

I know what's coming next-
the helplessness.
My body stiffens with anger, with rage;
I try writing, drawing, only to tear up a blank page.

Where do I go with this hurt, this pain.
What about cutting,
Nothing to lose and nothing to gain.
Anything, just as long as I get rid of this pain I'm in.

The first cut is something I'll never forget,
The hate and rage dragging through my flesh
as I tore myself open with a blunt razor blade.

It was sick, but good while it lasted.
When I stopped, the blood oozed out
and the sight of something so alive, so crimson
made me feel better, only for a while though.

"No, God, why didn't You stop me?"
How could I go as far as offering my blood to myself.
You gave me Jesus and His blood-
instead I chose to do it myself.

How wrong I was.
The cut is no cure.
It only leads to more hate, confusion and pain.
Forgive me for even considering it.
I accept Jesus' blood and I reject my own.
You are God, my Healer, my Cure.