Blade Against My Skin

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.