Walking the Razor's Edge

With a blade, I cut my ravaged skin,
The only sting that feels good to me.

I see them try, but I do not let them In.
For it is alone in the dark I'd rather be.

Others move so much whilst I stay still,
Waiting to see those clock arms move.

From the bottom, I look atop the hill,
And when offered help, I do refuse.

I focus fully on the pain,
The blood spill followed by a screaming cry.

And though for my wounds only I to blame,
The damage remains unless I die.

Please look away; I don’t want you to see,
This story about falling off life’s steep ledge.

And yet, my heart does fear what might happen to me,
If I continue to walk this razor’s edge.