A Cutters Mind

<font type="Times New Roman" size="3" color="blue"> My hands are shaking. In my left hand I hold a cigarette, and in my right I hold a razor. I lower the razor to the flesh of my leg with my trembling hand as I inhale a puff of smoke to calm my nerves. Blood flows down my leg hitting the white tiled floor below. My red blood against the white of the tiles would seem almost surreal to any other person, but to me it brings a sense of comfort. Beauty in my eyes. No one understands the mind of a cutter unless they themselves are a cutter. It brings a sense of relief to ones soul and to their mind. No it doesn’t last, but we do it again. It’s a deadly addiction if taken too far. For the time being it is my only escape from a world where no one cares. An attachment, an addiction. I’ve grown to love it, and will continue to love it until I’m handed another option worth grasping. </font>