Fence-Rail Sitting

My backside hurts
From this fencerail
I'm sitting on.
I have to get off
Soon.
Which way
Will I go?
I can't have both things.
I can't glorify God
And cut.
I can't claim both his blood
And mine.

But I don't know
What I want!
I don't know
What to live for.

I've tasted God's goodness
A time or two
I know what it is
Sort of.
Never tasted it more
Than a few days
Maybe a month.
Rest of my life has been
Well, pretty sucky
And I find a way
To deal finally
It's just less acceptable
Than eating
Or sleeping
Or video games
Or this writing
Or talking...
All the other things
People do
To cope.
Because I cope
With a razor blade
I'm considered
Strange
A monster, almost
Certainly condemned

But they're right
I'm a monster
I'm strange
Weird
Different
I get stressed
Everyone does
But I relieve that stress
With blood
Which is biblical
I've just got the wrong blood
I love blood
Too much
For sure
But more I love the pain
Because like he said
It puts actions to feelings
Otherwise inexpressable
It shows
If only to myself
How much I hurt

I don't wanna go back!
I don't wanna revisit
The past
It should stay where it is
An occasional overarching pain
Sure, it can strike
Without warning
Maybe it colors my thinking
More than I know
Maybe it's the root of the pain
I don't care
I keep that pain
In a locked box
In a locked room
Behind a locked door
Behind another locked door
Buried in a cave
In the middle of the ocean
It has consumed too much
Of my life
Already
Why give it more?
I used to think about it
Continuously
Now it's less and less
Bringing it up again
Only makes it worse.