Cuts

My music greets me

Through my headphones

A sad melody

From a playlist

She made for me

Into the ear drums

Through the brain

And it splits the heart in two

I must’ve been listening to it last time

Because it plays without me choosing it

And the sad voice

Of the suffering gentleman

Cuts me again

This is a self induced cut

A conscious choice to suffer

It is similar

To tiny cuts on the wrist

But These cuts

Can only be seen in my dead eyes

I can see the blood though

I can feel the scars

It’s not her fault

I know this now

It took a few months

And a few songs

And a few bad dates

And a few hundred poems

But I realized it

It was never her fault

She’s happy now

Or so it seems

She has him

And I just have 400 poems about her

I write them

And then burn them

It's supposed to be catheradic

But

It isn’t

It is just

More self induced cuts

I’m running out of room on my soul

For these scars

I just hope

People don’t see them

And stare at me

With my dead eyes

I stare right back

That's when they usually look away

She was right…

These days are like razors.

-C.H.