Cut Away

Cut away the pain
Cut away my heart
Cut away my brain
So that there is no thought

The guilt is buried deep
Yet still dictates my life
The curse of sown and reaped
The emblem of my strife

Do I cut to feel
or let the guilt escape
Is occasional joy real
Or to mimic life my fate

Cut away the pain
Cut away my heart
Cut away my brain
So that there is no thought

Cindy
Cindy Darkheart's Poetry Concerto No. 1
     Dark Sad Poetry for Lost Souls           
<!-- AddThis Button BEGIN --><div class="addthis_toolbox addthis_default_style"><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php?v=250&username=darkpsyche" class="addthis_button_compact">Share</a><span class="addthis_separator">|</span><a class="addthis_button_facebook"></a><a class="addthis_button_myspace"></a><a class="addthis_button_google"></a><a class="addthis_button_twitter"></a></div><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/250/addthis_widget.js#username=darkpsyche"></script><!-- AddThis Button END -->
The 40 Year Old Cutter

Each scar tells a story
Of unrequited love and sins
Some self inflicted guilt
A means to an end

Lore seems to view it
As a rite of passage for girls
My ritual has lasted decades
A friend in all life's hurdles

Underneath my clothing
Lies a map of blood and tears
Roads that lead to nowhere
Depressed psychotic jeers

Cindy
Blood Sighs-A Self Injury(SI) Blog for Adults 
Self-Injury.net
Its in the Blood

Tales of failure
Hope and faith
Murder and suicide
Its all in the blood

Salvation or power
Freedom's reflection
Stares back at you
Its all in the blood

Control over life's
Sauntering paths
Thats why we do it
Its all in the blood

Cindy
Open Wound

Scrathcing and clawing
digging deep
Pain and blood
adrenaline relief

Opening and healing
wounding again
Scars so deep
joy within

I know you don't get it
its hard to explain
A break from anxiety
the irony of pain

Cindy

             
I

I
Am the blood
That stains my sheets
when
I
wound too deep...

I
Am the blood
That flows syonymous with grief,
guilt, release, escapt, fear that falls
on the floor in drops of...
Defeat

Because
I
Am the blood

Cindy
Necrotic Trophies

If you shake the box
What you will hear
Are pieces of stress
Blood soaked hatred

Detached from the body
These homeless scabs
Private sense of shame
Yet somehow mixed with pride

Cindy

Steel Freedom

Each slice equals freedom
Release from the cage
That mimics imprisons
Each day filled with rage
The irony is
With each slice I make
Am I closer to freedom
Or death by mistake

Cindy