Cut . . . A poem

I wrote this on March 14, 2009. Most readers will draw a dark image from the words, but the poem came out of a dark time. I would love to hear comments from the readers.


Warm blood
Bright red, rich
Dripping from each cut

Releasing the pain
Needing to get it out
Calm in its place

Burning wounded skin
A new blade
Tossed to the side
Their purposes served



  1. Your description is exactly how I imagined cutting would be. I've never done it but have come close on several occasions, always looking for that calmness. That release of the pent up frustration. I can appreciate the words you've written.

  2. I think cutting is more about releasing the pain than anything else. Despair and hurt build and need a way out. Thanks for commenting.