two small cuts
by Ava Blu
two small cuts, testing out a blade.
never was much of a cutter before, used my nails to draw the blood.
I think I forgot the harm of blood, the pools leaving way for something else, something sinister.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
not just the here here, but here in this life.
what will it take. little cuts all over, digging into skin with nails.
just a little blood.
just a little.
there isn’t anything to look forward to.
why are you keeping blades around here anyway?
just a little bit longer and someone will end this.
little longer and the façade will shift.
(I accidentally typed “shit” instead of shift
and I almost left it because…really…isn’t this all shit anyways)
what is it they say, the deeper the cut…blah blah blah.
it’s the small cuts you never see, the ones we do for ourselves
hidden underneath jackets and turtlenecks in the middle of june.
can you afford to call attention to the details anymore?
two small cuts turned into
Posted on 05/27/2014
Copyright © 2020 Ava Blu
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 05/27/14 at 04:51 PM|
I don't know how autobiographical this poem is, and if I were to provide one possible answer as to what the protagonist of this poem has got to look forward to, that answer would be, a looking forward to writing gems such as this one as sparkles in our eyes, as have the ability to turn fading interest into perfect curiosity as slays not cats but enlivens.
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/28/14 at 03:21 PM|
Disturbing - one can only hope for a better solution to this depression.
|Posted by George Hoerner on 05/29/14 at 01:21 AM|
It is amazing how some of us look around and see all the bad in the world, maybe even in our self, and none of the good or even great things. Some only see the reverse. What ever we see it is rarely us as individuals that are the cause or the cure! Sometime we can't see the forest for... etc. We just have to expand our possibilities.
|Posted by Sam Roberts on 05/30/14 at 10:30 AM|
This seems to be very personal, whether it is or not, I don't know. If it is, then I think it is very honest. Sometimes poetry doesn't need to be complicated. I believe this poem acts as good catharsis, which poems should do. I understand this feeling well, and you have captured the "head traffic" as I call it beautifully. So, well done x
|Posted by Anita Mac on 07/31/14 at 06:52 PM|
I love you and I miss you and I have been there and hope to never return. I hope you and your words are still running from Love to Torment and back again, always lingering in the middle somewhere, my beloved Kindred Spirit.
|Posted by Sarah Wolf on 08/04/14 at 04:53 AM|
I had someone close to my heart once who did this. I would wake in the night and run to their room to check on them. I would try to understand. I would read books. I would hide razors and knives. I eventually learned the person I loved so much didn't really want to die, they just wanted to be heard. They wanted their pain to be acknowledged. Silent cries that could not be heard could easily be seen in blood. The pain was real. The blood was real. The high of something deep inside locked up coming to the surface. Beautiful expression. Truly touches my heart.