I cut not because of you,
But I cut because I have to,
I cut when I feel lost, 
When I have no moral support,
From family friends or you, 
I cut because I'm confused, 
What do I do?,
Is a question I ask myself,
Next thing I know I'm in tears,
Because I don't no what to do,
Should I should I not, 
I blink my eyes and realize,
I'm holding a blade, 
A blade with red stains on it,
From the cuts of the past, 
I press the blade against my skin, 
As I wait for the blood to gush out, 
After that one cut I cry more, 
And I start cutting and cutting,
I start shaking as if I'm having,
A seizure I shake tremendously, 
I press a napkin against my cuts,
And blood comes out quicker, 
After it soaks the old blood, 
I just press the napkin towards,
My skin so the blood could stop, 
I then feel better, 
I cut because of confusion,
I cut because of no support,
But mainly because I'm that Lost fish.