Does anyone see beauty in poems of cutting? Everytime I read them his tingle runs through my body. Not a bad tingle, just this feeling of how beautiful the action is. How as they describe watching the blood flow down there arms you feel that peace you only feel when you are the one doing it. I can't help but feel that this feeling is wrong. But everything seems to flow so smoothly. Images floating through my brain. Now I'm babbling. I have to go. I just wondered if any of you feel that too as you read those exquisite poems about something that seems so wrong.