Inside the Mind of a Cutter

I’m going to take you on a journey, a twisted ride,

In the complicated mind of a cutter, step inside:

Imagine, if you will, having your voice taken away,

You try, even scream, but no one hears what you say.

It doesn’t matter what it is you do,

Because no on can see the pain you’re going through.

The one day, all this is magnified,

It feels as if your soul has died.

A man you trusted ripped your body apart,

To kill this pain, where do I start?

I can’t talk to anyone to tell them how I feel,

They’ve long-ago silenced me, what can I do to deal?

What’s there to do when I’ve got no voice?

Self-violence seems the only logical choice.

Lash out against the very thing that caused all the pain.

Because maybe if it’s ugly, he’ll never want it again.

Besides, this doesn’t hurt quite as much as the other,

And yeah, it’s a cliché, but it does all go back to my mother.

So I trade one pain for another, but at least I’m ok,

I’ve got more scars on my legs, but I’ve made it another day.

And now you understand a little more as to why I do what I do,

I know you could never completely understand, but it helps me make it through.

Heather L. Johnson

July 2004