My knife lays before me, ready to be held

My bloodstained towel trembles at the weight it holds

I slowly, cautiously, pick up my knife, ready to begin

I place the towel surely, securely, beneath my hand

My knife lashes out, digging deeper with each blow

My towel soaks up the blood that I drain

I pick what place I carve next, this has to be done right

I make sure each scar has healed before I carve again

My eyes catch a glimpse of the trail I left behind

My towel left a stain, missing the most crucial parts

I lift my head to get away from the sight I created

I can no longer feel like I know I should, I’ve become numb

My story leaked, it got uncensored, I could not hide

My paper embraced it wasn’t shredded like it should

I slowly put down my knife , and pick up my pen

I place the towel in the dresser and replace it with paper

My pen is my knife, and I lash out again

My paper is my towel, and I stain it so much

I see the Angel of Mercy reading what I write

I see the look she’s giving me, but it’s no the look I deserve

My Angel of Mercy has set me free, so I start

My darkness has faded, but I still create

I still write pain, but now it has a cause

I worship the flames, watching them eat the words I tell

My Angel of Mercy has saved me from every one, even myself

My world is right now, no longer cursed by sorrow

I keep track of my pain, and I don’t let it get me

I’ve done this so much, now its like breathing, only deeper