Part 2: (The Perpetrator) Once More

Do you know just how hard it is?

To see cuts on the arm of another,

Cuts you've cut as well, yourself, before,

And thought thoughts that make stomachs swirl;

At sixteen years old do they know that pain,

That eats you up from the inside,

The hurting necessary to call for a blade,

And make streams of scarlet to hide;

Those shaking limbs, fingers grasping fingers,

Both of you clawing for life,

You see the pain of your heart echoed in their eyes,

As you pry stubborn hands from the knife;

They cry and on impulse you hold them close,

Holding back sobs of your own,

The two of you, troubled, struggling, dead,

Neither willing to let go and return home;

It's dangerous you see, to care so much,

When we both know it will hurt greater,

But to pull another back, as you step closer to the edge,

Understand it will cause pain, but only later;

Once they are gone, I let the tears flow,

And they flow in rivulets they've flowed in before,

It could swallow me whole, the grief that I feel,

But my itching fingers are reaching for more;

Knife in my hands, curled up in a ball, footsteps coming in closer,

There's an arm round my side and a hand over mine,

They're holding me tightly, but do you care at all?