Cutting Edge

Standing in front of the mirror staring at my bare body in the reflection, 

Disgust filling my head, a pit forming in my stomach.

Scars decorate my body, marking all over, some short, some longer, some straight, more crooked,

As if my body was used to play tic tac toe.

I grasp a piece of my mom’s old broken vase and place the rough edge against my skin,

“What am I doing?” I ask with tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

Giving yourself what you deserve.

The voice in my head replies.

So I cut.

Look at how ugly you are.

the voice continues,

Another cut,

No one could ever love you.

The voice gets louder,

Another cut,

You’re worthless!!

I shove the shard deeper and rip through the skin,

Blood starts leaking from within,

Trickling down my arm,

Dripping onto the floor, staining the snow white carpet.

Tears drip from my face mixing in with the dark red blood.

I watch, paralyzed, numb.

I look down at the dripping vase piece,


The cuts hurt my body but the pain numbs my heart.