cut

“cut it out
this isn’t normal
what you’re doing.”

So I did. 
First, I cut my limbs so I wouldn’t reach. For and out. 
Then, in doubt, I cut my doubts into little pieces and threw them
away. Not away-away, but put them aside like you put a picture you’re hoping to look at one day. Again.

“When?” I asked while looking for a prey. 
Not today.

Then I cut a part of my brain with medication as an excuse so swell. 
“It’s OK, I’m not well” I encouraged myself as moments passed. 
Time didn’t travel as fast, though.

So I opted for a lobotomy and now I don’t know.