Desperation Is Not Attractive.

Cutting, cutting, cutting....
I get nowhere. I go nowhere.
Just cutting and falling, cutting and falling.
But I keep climbing back up.

Cutting, cutting, cutting....
Because I don't know anything else.
I keep thinking I can do better.
But I'm just trimming the tree.

Cutting, cutting, cutting....
Making it harder for myself each time, not easier.
Desperation sets in.
It just means that I'm doing it all faster.

Cutting, cutting, cutting....
How do I stop?
Each branch is less sturdy than the last, not more.
The higher you climb, the less they hold your weight.

Cutting, cutting, cutting....
I'd say move to a different tree -
But you only get one.
What happens when all the branches are gone?

Cutting, cutting, cutting....
Perhaps one day I'll stop long enough for branches to start growing back.
Somehow.
But until then, I'm always

Cutting, cutting, cutting....

Author's note: this poem is not referring to "cutting" in the sense of self-harm. While that may fit with some of the metaphor used, this was not the intended meaning. I do not and have not self-harmed before. If this is something that you struggle with, please seek professional help.