As I rip my hair out, strip by strip, I think about what the next year is going to be for me
It's gonna suck
I can already tell
I'm going to be worse
I hope to god I don't go back to self harm
But I pick my nails and shake and the thought of getting bad again
There's a lot of what ifs with the year that's going to come
What if this happens
What if that's happens
What if
At the thought of that, I pick my nails until they bleed
I won't be able to think straight anymore
I won't be able to focus on school
At the thought of this, I pick at my skin, hoping to bleed just a little bit
I hope I don't get bad again
I hope those thoughts don't come again
They used to be bad habits
I hope they don't come again
I hope
I hope
I hope
