The Cutter

I am hiding. The world can see me, all of me. My sins are written down my arms and legs and they are bleeding. I am afraid that someone will ask me if I am ok. Or if I am crazy. I retreat behind closed doors with only my needles, and other sharp objects. I cut to kill the pain. It hurts as it bleeds and the sensation feels good. I hide the marks under my sleeves, and I wipe the blades clean. No one will see or ever know not even me. I avoid the mirror. It has a frightful thing. I don't see me. The mirror reveals hidden emotions behind the glass. I can see demons playing in my hair, when I look into my reflection. I won't let them take me. They want my soul.