The Razors Edge

I have an attraction to a razor you see, it calls to me it wants me to bleed.
To feel it cut through my skin gives such a high that I never fear I will die.
I look to cut all my pain right out but instead I live with a scar of doubt.
I wish to be released of my pain, cleanse my soul so that I may feel whole.
I could hide all my fears and doubts in my heart but I believe they would tear me apart.
Alone in my own misery I feel no more, I take the razor and fall to the floor.
The blood surrounds me; in my sea of red, I feel the pain first in my head.
Death creaks through the door, lurking to impale my soul but I have yet another goal.
As the pain I feel becomes more real, I wonder to myself "Do I have sex appeal?"
Strange what goes on in the mind before death, just as I think I am taking my last breath...
My spirit scream, clawing hope from my breast.
I Protest... I Protest... I Protest!!
I am not ready to die today, my spirit has life and wants to play.
I have a pain I will admit.
Some days it takes all my fight to put away the razor each night.
I feel that I am grasping at my soul, my mind in the edge of reason.
I feel myself screaming yet nobody can hear me...
Will I ever wake from this nightmare and be whole again?
Never to feel such pain.

Again I find myself sitting on the razors edge...

i like it. personal experience?
otherwise i dont see how you could write this in a way that i relate to it ,
have you posted on the self harm forum before?