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Dear Destiney
You'll always be a cutter.
You can't utter
The words "I quit"
Or everyone will know it's a bit.
Cherry red blood running
Down your arms and legs.
You think cutting
Helps you as if it's keeping you alive.
Cutting would stop
Your anger and pain.
You would gain
Scars from the bottom to the top.
People told you it was your fault,
You just felt
Broken and unwanted.
You didn't get what you wanted.
You use your blade
Hoping the scars would fade.
Your trying to stop for the one you love,
Wanting to give them a dove.
You stopped for them
Once they screw you over
You have no choice but to start again.
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