cold and alone, wanting to die.
wanting attention, wondering why.
I try to find away to let it all out and I find it impossible, i scream i
shout.
I sit down on my bed, a razor in my hand, wondering where on my arm it will
land.
I get a towl quickly to block the blood from my bed, so my mom wont find
out, only I'll know instead.
Once i start its hard to stop, the blood is pouring drop by drop.
I feel relieved, in some ways still depressed.
I clean up quickly before theres a big mess.
I go to school wearing long sleeves each day covering the scars, and large
bandaids.
I don't know why, It just feels so right.
All covered up No one finds out, except my one friend Richelle.
She knows almost everthing that I've done Or im trying to do she is
like my second myself we are so similar its strange.
I feel happy, I know she will keep it secret!
I feel unloved and ignored, no one pays attention, that is exactly how
things like this happen..
I come back tomorrow back to my bed with the same towl, razor, and dread.
they're hidden in my drawer beneath my clothes I don't wear the
ones that are old and I cannot wear.
It happens again, the same old thing, my arms and my razors little fling.
 
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