(this was written on a particualry bad day, i don't know if anyone will like it but please rate n review)
I act like its all fine
Like the words don't hurt me
Like the smile isn't plastic
Like my laugh is fake
Like my scars are just scratches
I feel fine
I just keep repeating
I suppose my mates have just given up
But I don't know
I let the blood trickle from the open wounds
Filling my soul with some kind of satisfaction
I see it drying on my arm
The enjoyable crackling on my skin
The opened cuts the knives go in
I see the scars as I undress
Pale on top of my olive skin
I ignore the pain when I run my fingers over them
More like an incomprehendable cure of some sort
My mates have just forgot to ask if im ok
As I cry myself to illness everyday
I can't convince myself that everything is fine
Even though im saying it so much I sound like a drone
The scratches have led them selves to my wrists.
As I place the knife over one last time.
I try whispering my friend's name
To see if that brings me some sort of conclusion
But no one answers
So I let the knife open all my wounds at once.
It doesn't bother me now.