Cut

The blood runs down my wrist after I put a cut there.
I smile because there is a huge wave of relief.
The scars on my wrists count a total of 4.
Not long has this been happening but what the hell, its my body.
Life goes on and no one notices.
And the funny part is if I try to hide them, then everyone will notice.
I fold the pocket knife and set it back on my dresser.
No one cares about that there either.
My dad was with me when I got it.
Slowly I walk down the stairs with the cut starting to heal.
They aren't deep, just deep enough to relieve everything going on in me.
Hey I'm not suicidal, I'm not depressed.
It's just a way I express myself.
Without anyone noticing.