*** Aan hen die doen aan zelf-mutulatie - Je weet dat het stom is, je weet dat je jezelf en anderen ontzettend veel pijn doet. Je denkt niet na bij de daad, maar het is je enige hoop om de vuurhaard in je gebroken ziel lichtjes te kunnen doven. Door je lichaam te pijnigen. ***
...Cutting the body for mending the soul...
Needing to relieve mental pain,
Expressed by a dagger’s edge,
Realizing mortality,
Cutting is considered a pledge.
Holding the knife in my hand,
Like the reaper with the scythe,
I look at my wrist,
I can’t see the light.
The world is blurred,
And it’s colored crimson red,
My skin ripples like the waves,
And slowly flows an ocean of death.
Vague images pass the mind’s eye,
And the ground is falling towards me,
Waking up in my own blood,
How stupid could I be?
Cleaning my own mess,
And keeping it an utter mystery,
How those lines on my wrist,
Ever came to be.
And a lover’s care is rejected,
For he needs not to know,
That to endure my inner pains,
Is by cutting myself, really slow…