Cutter #62
February 3, 2001

I feel the heat come to the surface
Of my skin and it makes me sigh
In relief
It makes me high and fills my lungs with oxygen

This isn't pain,
It's joy,
My way of being able
To close my eyes for a few minutes and
Joyfully not be able to see.

A closer feel and I can read the Braille
Of how many hours there was left in the night

My way of exhaling
And letting go of all my expectations
of others.
My way of speaking to myself, in a language
My body and mind understands