My cut

Cannot wait to get home,

Been looking forward to it for a while,

It is the only thing keeping me sane.

Eyes locked upon the clock,

Ticks slowly to five, 

Like a greyhound out the blocks,

Muttered greetings and waves of goodbye.

No smile upon my face,

As works stress, pent up inside,

Boils, brings road rage to the fore.

Slow snail moving traffic,

Frustrates and infuriates!

Think happy thoughts,

Almost there, almost home.

Then...

Half a smile rises to the surface,

It is waiting, laying there serenely,

My release from another day.

My arm aches as I flex my muscles,

Home is near, almost seen,

Euphoria is peeking through the window.

Out the car like a jack rabbit,

No time to greet the neighbours, 

Front door open, closed one motion,

Bag, jacket thrown oneside,

Run upstairs, into bathroom,

Lightening could not have been quicker.

Stare at myself in the mirror,

Excitement coursing within.

With trembling hand I reach forth,

My eyes glued to myself,

Done this so many times,

Blindfolded would not be a problem.

Feel the calm, cool, clinical feel,

Of the knife...

Slow, measured breaths,

As I pull back my sleeve.

Twenty two healing scars,

Up my arm, like rivers side by side.

Each one a release till happiness.

The whetted knife presses gingerly,

Piercing my skin, first drop of blood,

Begins the road to free...

Slowly sigh, seductively cut,

The stress seeps out, gone.

Red drops of blood drip,

Into white porcelian receptacle, 

Peace,  tranquillity,  inner quiet, within.

Open tap, wash away the vile,

Cleanse my arm and soothingly wrap,

Joyous release...arm throbs, burns,

All good, I smile a true smile,

Others bullshit is bearable,

So long as I have my secret,

My release...my cut.