We meet again and I ask,
Has it been so long?
I've forgotten how comforting
your preternatural arms can be.
You're forbidden, but like Eve,
I cannot resist your beckon.
Scars are my reminders
Of the errors of my ways.
Here I am again, razor in hand,
Finding myself and fixing God's mistakes.
Written May 28th, 2010
NOTE:
October 2, 2011
I used to be a cutter. I'm not anymore. I grew out of it. Cutting myself is a.) not the same, doesn't help me the way it used to and b.) i really really don't want scars to remind me of this shit. The last thing I need is to look down at my lovely, curvy thighs and catch sight of pale pink lines screaming THIS WAS A MISTAKE AND SO WAS THE REASON IT HAPPENED.
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