PART I

I CUT TEETH AS A BABY,

I CUT CLASS IN SCHOOL,

AND I DIDN’T MAKE THE CUT

FOR THE FOOTBALL TEAM.

I CUT FARTS A LOT AS A KID,

BIG LONG RIPS, AND THOUGHT

IT WAS HILARIOUS.

I GOT CUT ONCE OR TWICE

IN THE MARINES.

I CUT AN UMBILICAL CORD

ON A BABY I DELIVERED,

AND TIED IT OFF WITH THREAD.

I CUT A TANGLED ROPE

OFF A DROWNING PUPPY

IN AN ICY POND ,

WHILE THE ROTTWEILER MOTHER

TRIED TO SLASH MY THROAT

WITH HER TEETH.

A GOOD FRIEND SLICED MY WRIST

WHEN WE WERE

BOX-CUTTING AT WORK,

I BLED LIKE A STUCK PIG

AND SQUIRTED IT AT THE POLICE OFFICER

WHEN HE PULLED US OVER FOR SPEEDING

ON THE WAY TO THE E.R…..

HE CUT IN FRONT OF US,

SIRENS BLARING THE REST OF THE WAY

TO GET US THERE SAFELY.

I CUT MY MAMAS HAIR,

JUST A SMALL LOCK

JUST BEFORE THEY CREMATED HER.

I CUT OFF MY SISTER WHO HAD THIRTEEN KIDS

AND ALWAYS STOLE THE MONEY

I SENT TO MY MOTHER

FOR BIRTHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS ,

STEAMING THE ENVELOPES

OPEN AND REMOVING THE CASH,

AND THEN GIVING MY MOM

AN EMPTY CARD.

I CUT DOWN ON SMOKING

AND THEN QUIT, OVER AND OVER AGAIN,

BUT I WILL QUIT AGAIN REAL SOON,

MAYBE FOREVER.

I CUT OFF A SWEATER

I WAS WEARING THAT CAUGHT FIRE,

WHEN I WAS CLEANING SOME

MECHANICAL PARTS WITH SOLVENTS

AND SMOKING A CIGARETTE.

I ONCE STOOD ON A HIGH BRIDGE

AND THOUGHT ABOUT

JUMPING OVER SOME GIRL

WHO HAD LEFT ME BUT THEN

I CUT AND RAN FROM THERE

LEAVING DEATH BEHIND.

I CUT IN A FEW LINES AND GOT

PRIMO SEATS, AND DIRTY LOOKS.

I CUT SOME COKE IN MY TIME

BUT REALIZED IT WAS SNOT FUN ANYMORE.

I’VE CUT MY FAIR SHARE OF CARDS,

AND BIG PILES OF CASH.

I’VE KISSED THE CUTS OF LITTLE ONES

AND MADE THEM BETTER

“I WISH I COULD DO THAT FOR YOU

BECAUSE I’VE NEVER CUT MYSELF,

BUT I’VE GONE TO GET HELP THOSE WHO DID.”

ONE BOY IN THE MARINES SWALLOWED

EIGHT RAZOR BLADES

JUST TO GET OUT OF BOOT CAMP.

HE BROKE ‘EM IN HALF, AND SWALLOWED THEM

BUT HE LIVED. OF COURSE HE WRECKED HIS

STOMACH AND HIS DIET FOR A LONG TIME.

BUT YOU KNOW IF I HAD CUT MYSELF

BAD ENOUGH I MIGHT NEVER HAVE BEEN ABLE

TO THINK BACK NOW ON ALL OF LIFE’S JO,Y

LOVE, AS WELL AS IT’S SHEER PLEASURE, THRILLS AND

CHILLS AND EVEN THE PAIN AND SORROW

THAT MADE ME STRONGER.

THINGS I MIGHT HAVE MISSED

FOR THAT SPLIT SECOND RUSH OF

SLICING MY FLESH.

AND I AM SO GLAD THAT I LEFT

ANY CUTTING SCARS OUT OF MY MEMORY.

MAYBE IT’S TIME YOU CUT IT OUT

AND STARTED TO LIVE BEFORE

GOD CALLS OUT THE END OF

YOUR NEXT HACK SCENE WITH A

LOUD ”CUT.! ” AND YOU BECOME

JUST ANOTHER SAD STATISTIC.

PART II

SLASH A GASH
TILL YOU LOOK
LIKE A ROAD MAP.

NUMEROUS RED LINES
CRISSCROSSING WHITE FLESH,
EACH A HIGHWAY TO
ALLEVIATE DEPRESSION.

SCARS ARE YOUR CLIFF NOTES,
FROM YOUR BOOK OF SORROWS.

IT IS WHERE YOU
JUMPED OFF REALITY.

DOES IT REALLY GET
THE ATTENTION YOU CRAVE?

WHY NOT JUST SLASH YOUR FACE?
THEN YOU’LL REALLY GET NOTICED.

NO MORE HIDING
THE MARKS OF YOUR DESPAIR,
UNDER LONG SLEEVES,
SHOW THE WORLD
THAT YOU CAN CUT IT
BUT ONLY IF YOU DO,
CUT IT THAT IS.

BUT DON’T CUT TO DEEP,
THERE’S AN ARTERY
OR VEIN IN THERE
WITH YOUR NAME ON IT,

WAITING TO BE PUBLISHED IN THE OBITUARIES.

MOST LOVERS PREFER
THEIR PARTNERS UNMARKED,
THERE IS SOMETHING UNSETTLING
ABOUT CARESSING SKIN
THAT FEELS LIKE A SCREEN DOOR,
WHICH MAKES FOR A GOOD EXIT LINE.

FIND A DART BOARD
AND POST YOUR PICTURE ON IT,
THEN WHALE AWAY WITH SHARP POINTS,
TILL YOU CAN’T SEE
YOURSELF WHOLE ANYMORE.

ENLARGE AN INTER-NET PICTURE
OF YOURSELF, LIFE SIZE,
MOUNT IT ON SOME CARD BOARD,
OVER SOME HOLLYWOOD STAGE BLOOD BAGS,
AND SLASH YOUR PSEUDO SELF,
INTO A BLOOD SPATTERED FRENZY.

THERE ARE MUCH BETTER
SOLUTIONS THEN BLOOD,
KNOW THAT AS A POET,
I LOVE YOU AND UNDERSTAND
SUCH ANGST AND DESPAIR.

I HAVE SLASHED
OVER FOUR THOSAND TIMES
WITH A PEN, A PENCIL,
OR SOME P.C. KEYS,
AND LET MY POEMS
BLEED OUT MY FEELINGS,

BOTH GOOD AND BAD.
NO SCARS, JUST
LINES OF COMFORT.
AND THEN MY FINGERS CAN CUT
WHAT I DON’T LIKE,
ERASE WHAT IS UNSIGHTLY,
AND LET OTHERS NOTICE ME.

TRY A NEW FORM OF CUTTING,
CUT ME DOWN FOR THIS POEM,

CRITIQUE IT WITH A SHARP TONGUE,
TAKE A SLICE OF MY HEART,
AT LEAST IT WILL
KEEP YOUR HANDS BUSY,
AND YOU WON’T HAVE TIME
TO BE CUTTING YOURSELF DOWN.

CUT OUT THIS POEM
AND PUT IT NEXT
TO YOUR KNIFE,
YOUR RAZOR,
YOUR BAND-AIDS
YOUR DOWNFALL,
THEN READ IT
BEFORE YOU PLAY
TIC-TACK- DOE-DOE,
ON YOUR FLESH AGAIN.

SINCERELY ~~~

MFB III-PRODUCTIONS.

ARTWHIMSICALLY YOURS STUDIO