Cut Away

A small knife.
A lancet.
A tiny blade to prick a finger;
To rip skin;
To let crimson blood flow.

A primal urge.
More pain to cover pain.
Rivulets of dark red.
The colour of life;
The transporter of oxygen.

Why cut?
Why not?
An uncontrollable force,
Within me.
Driving the lancet home.
Tearing, splitting...
Why can't I stop?


• Dedicated to Anyone.

• All poems written by J R A Gigney unless stated.

Location:Green Trees Ave,,United Kingdom