People always tell me how lucky I am,

To have the life that I do.

But they don't see what happens when I am at home.

All the yelling and fighting,

And all the nights crying myself to sleep.

I turn to my razor,

The little piece of metal that makes thins all better.

I tell myself it will only hurt a little.

Pushing it into my skin,

A tear falls down my cheek.

I would have caught it,

But I am to weak to lift my arms.

Wiping the blood off my arms feels like I am wiping away all the pain and
worries of life,

The life they say I am so lucky to have.


 
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