Anxiety is taking over.
Beside me is the knife.
Crying silently so that nobody questions me.
Depression in my head.
Eating as little as possible.
Forgetting the pain, slowly.
Guilty of harmful thoughts and actions.
Hiding in the darkness.
Inside of my mind is the darkness, the darkest of them all..
Just waiting for my time to pass...
Killing myself, slowly..
Lying about the 'scratches' on my wrist.
Made them believe that I'm okay..
Not a single person questions my sleeves..
On my wrists, are the tallies of my pain.
Pieces of my happiness shattering more and more..
Questioning my reasons to stay alive.
Ready for my end.
Sleeves pulled down to cover the marks.
Turning down food all day.
Underestimating the power of a plastered on plastic smile.
Vision blurred from all the tears.
Writing a picture on my wrist, with a silver paintbrush and dark red paints.
Xerotic (dry) personality from all the sadness
Yanking on the small rope that holds what's left of my life in it..
Zen? Ha, like I could ever be able to be calm..
