i used to think cutting was an unbelievable thing, wondering why people would hurt themselves like that.

but then I got hurt by others, and the hurt inside me became so much harsher and more painful then any fleshwound.

and now as I cut my skin like paper, I realize why people do this.

I need to feel something, anything other than this hole inside of me that is just tearing and expanding in my chest, burning with every breath I take.

I need an escape from all the memories burned into my brain like a branded serial number.

and for a moment, im free.

and all too quickly the tearing sensation of holes on my skin is replaced again by the tearing of the hole inside of me.

and again I’m back.

locked inside the prison of my brain, waiting on file for death row.

waiting until the next time I will taste freedom for only a second.