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I can feel the razor
As it runs along my arm.
Does anyone out there care enough
To see if I've done much harm?

My razor is my only friend,
Or so it seems sometimes.
It understand me, completes me,
It sees through to my mind.

My other friend, a teddy bear,
I cling to through the night.
As I toss and as I turn
I hold him tight as tight.

And now one question is left,
Yes, only one remains.
Do I persevere with this,
Or simply try to miss the veins?