Cutting is so much like writing

It's so much like writing,
What words can't explain,
A secretive way,
Of coping with pain.

It's so much like writing,
So let it all out,
With a knife instead of pencil,
You'll feel better, no doubt.

Because they're so much like poetry,
These wounds bloody and scarred
Like written reminders,
That my heart is barred.

I remain silent,
Because they think I do things for attention,
Those that don't,
Would pawn me off to intervention.

So seal your lips tightly,
Let no words spill through,
Remember it's like writing,
With red ink instead of blue.

Next time you see a cutter,
Think not of bloody angst and hate,
Think merely of a writer,
Who's speaking of fate.

And before the word emo should leave your lips,
Here's what I want you to do,
Think of how you cope,
Your very own taboo.

Is it any different from cutting,
My dear friend I think not,
For it's all so much like writing,
A way to express a thought.

There's been at least one time,
When you've need to verify you were real,
And tested yourself,
To make sure you could feel.

Pencil to paper
Blade to skin,
No matter how you cope,
There's no way to win.

Because it's still pain,
That you go through,
How you deal with it,
Is nothing new.

No one in this trial,
Has a way of getting ahead,
There are no winners in a losing game,
Think otherwise and you've mislead.

Like a sickening plot twist,
The last thing you'd expect,
It's socially unacceptable,
To be regarded with respect.

If you show you are hurt,
You're certainly deceiving,
But all show their wounds,
When they are grieving.

They're so much like the keys,
At a novelists fingertips,
The knife, food, blood,
And moonlight eclipse.

The objects you pour,
Your heart and soul into,
Manipulated so easily,
To work against you.

Cutting is so much like writing,
It's usually wrong,
To all who don't understand,
Or just don't play along.

Look beside you, into their eyes,
These people are just like you,
They're trapped in their own skin,
And through an act are forcing themselves through.