There's This Problem

​There’s this problem
The blame
A cold desire to heal the shame
By cutting shallow, wishing deep
Waiting for the blood to seep 

There’s this problem
My mistake
Punished with death breath intake
By slicing thin, drawing red
Learning how to make me dead
 
There’s this problem
A choice
Whether I should obey the voice
By killing slowly, raging gentle
Risking all think me mental
 
There’s this problem
To resist?
The call to slice jugular and wrist
By lowering knife, enduring hate
Allowing soul’s pain be my fate
 
There’s this problem
The decision
Whether to stop making incision
By accepting regret, forgiving heart
Giving myself life’s fresh start