More Mind Drool (consider yourself warned)

Here's another attempt at poetry. Please keep in mind, poetry is generally not to be taken literally. In fact, with the exception of lyrics, poetry is almost always metaphorical . . . at least, from what I remember in English class, that was the case. In any event, this poem reads as follows :

Cut


So . . . quick, barely noticed.
Yet the line of pink becomes
Red, betraying the implied
Secrecy of the wound.
As the scarlet seeps forth,
The sting begins to drive home;
How I wish I could ignore all of this.

So . . . the issue of blood slows
And will stop in time.
The falibility of memory will
Aid the healing process.
Eventually, only an ugly dark red
Will hint at what used to threaten life.

So . . . the mark becomes only
A shadow of the pain endured.
Barely noticed among the other marks,
They blend into the tone of my skin.
The pain, once so raw, reduces
To an ever-present ache; life without
Becomes unthinkable, life with is only
Bearable.

So . . . continue the cycle, cut, bleed,
Heal over; All in vain, for it begins again.
Yet I endure, in spite of, or perhaps
Because of the pain.

So . . . remind me that I am, in fact alive.
Sear reality into my being.

Cut me again.