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.