You Stupid, Stupid Girl

Oh what a silly concept it is 
To cut into one's skin
And on purpose that is
But look here
Your chosen sharp item is already in your hand, baby girl 
And the tears are streaming down your face
You're screaming so loud 
But not a sound escapes from your lips 
And the blade, or the shard of glass, or the razor, or the broach that your grandmother gave to you when she passed away last May
Is pressing down onto your wrist 
Just do it, you curse yourself
The blood prickles, the crimson red rising from the cuts you just marked against your pale white skin
It lands onto your pretty white dress
And you rip that goddamn dress off
Because you hated it anyway 
Or so you tell yourself
Because lately you've been hating everything, and everyone
Including yourself
No, no
Especially yourself
And twiddling the blade 
Or the shard of glass
Or the razor
Or the broach that your grandmother gave to you when she passed away last May
With your long elegant fingers
You stash it away hastily in your pillow case
Until you need it's comfort once more
But for now, your knees are drawn into your bare chest
And you allow yourself to cry 
Until the morning comes along
And there is a loud knock on your bedroom door 
Willing you to come back to reality 
Even though this harsh cycle of depression 
Has become just that
Reality...