Pen to the paper

I’m twisted I’m tense 
I’m screwed up in a ball
So I grab my pen 
and wait for words to form
The ink is my relief 
flowing onto the page 
I start to unfold 
I release my rage
My hand is moving 
of its own free will
I’m ironing out 
I’m standing still
My new release, 
this seems safer
Words written down 
rather than blood on paper
Than razor on skin, 
than cutting too deep,
Now I have more 
than my scars to keep
So I thank the paper 
and I thank the pen
And say goodbye 
to that blade again