Another Stupid Fucking 'Cutter' Poem Written by Another Ignored Teenager, But That Was Your Guess, Anyway, Right?

You know, I sat on my small bathroom sink    
Prying apart another of my cousin's Gillette    
Razors, because they work the best.    
Sure, my hands were a little roughed up,    
But they always are since I'm an    
"Artist."    
Yes, I sat there for about ten minutes    
With my lips smashed together,    
And my furrowing brow, in    
Concentration, I finally unlatch the    
Blade's familiar casing.    
Five tiny little daggers stumble from    
Their mother into my palm    
as if to say    
Pick me, pick me!    
They are the face of society    
Today, I know    
But I really don't care.    
So I claim an anonymous    
Hopeful for the deed of    
The only prescence I'd ever    
allowed into my pants,    
Ironically.    
And I go lie in the tub with my head    
Against the white wall    
And my feet inches from the   
Other end since I'm    
Almost 5"1.    
I sit there holding the little razor between    
My two index fingers and look    
Up at the shower head    
with my elbows perched    
On either wall of my Hail Mary.    
Do it, it says.    
Like it was watching me with    
a disgusting need      
Or its own kind of    
Gratification.    
Do it, now insistent.    
Okay.    
I push down my plaid pajama shorts    
Revealing my pale thighs.    
For a moment I just use    
 the dull side of    
The blade and draw    
 invisible worlds    
Across my flesh and wonder    
what I'll look like in twenty,    
Thirty,    
Forty,    
Years what with obsession with    
Elizabeth Bathory.    
Here, I flip the weapon's real talents    
Where it should be.    
I press it at an angle and    
Suddenly know the euphoric    
Tug of my skin    
Opening    
and my blood    
Spilling in little rivets.    
But isn't that the story of    
Every other teenager?    
I want so anxiously to be different but    
I know I'm not. I know    
I'll be here for the rest    
Of my life.    
Waiting on some poor soul    
To fall into my parasidic claws    
So that I can do just what I'm doing now    
And destroy them from    
The inside.    
I place the blade onto the soap shelf    
on the face of the shower and    
Just stare at the mirror of    
Selfishness portrayed as cuts    
across my skin.    
I let it define me because    
I can't define myself.    
I want someone to care.