Cutting hurts in a brokenly beautiful way. And it feels wonderful
in a glorious tragic way. And it leaves scars and wounds that heal
only to be split open the next day.
And my body is a temple unto the LORD, but it's one that I tear
down and destroy every day. This obsession is bringing me down.
This addiction is bringing me down.
But where oh where have my angel wings gone? Oh where oh where can
they be? With the black feathers long and the white ones short, oh
where oh where could they be?
Heaven help me; Christ save me;
Devil leave me; Angels forsake me.
I am nothing, and nothing am I.
But who am I?
The cutter or the cuttee?
Does it really matter?
Why shouldn't it?
BECAUSE I AM NOTHING AND NOTHING AM I.
That's why.