Cut

When I'm sad,
I like to cut.
I cut because I'm sad.
With each cut,

I see the blood.
With each drop,
My pain numbs.
How many cuts,
will it take,
to get to the center,
of all this pain?
Is there a way,
to make it all okay?
The light bulb  in my mind,
starts to switch on,
it is so bright that I can't see,
anything.
When will the pain
just leave me be?
I wish I could stop,
that thoughts that I receive.
I wish I could run.
Run far from me.
Run from the past.
Why can't I just leave?
I don't know if anyone knows,
but I'm I've been killing me.
Most people don't know,
What I think in my head.
What I feel in my heart.
And why I'm scared,
of my hands.
I could try to explain,
everything.
But nothing would change,
because no one can see.
the monster in me.