My Pleasure

It started out as slow, bottled anger,
Anger at myself,
At others,
And at my friend.
I get angry at how I look,
Angry at what others say,
And do to me,
And then angry at my friend,
For thinking that she's the only one with problems,
And it builds.
It builds inside of me,
I try to keep it down,
But I can't,
The rage is inside me,
And I have no way of releasing it.
They are always on me,
On me not to bottle my anger,
But when I ask for something,
I can take anger out on,
They just say I don't need it,
But I need it,
I need something,
Anything.
I go to the bathroom,
And there,
On the sink,
Is my answer.
I tear the razor blades apart,
And touch them to my flesh,
And start to cut.
It feels so good,
My anger slowly subsides.
No wonder people cut,
The sensation,
Seeing the dark liquid on your skin,
Feeling the slow,
Stinging pain.
But not seeing the mark from which it came.
And now I know,
I cannot stop.
And one day it will consume me,
If I'm not caught.