(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.