Tear drops rolling down my face,
Through my head I hear the words,
"You are a such disgrace.."
Looking down at tightly clenched fists,
I question,
"What's the point of this?"
Right beside me lies a blade,
I want nothing more but to make the pain go away.
Yet here I am,
down on my knees,
Holding on to the thought of being set free.
The more I look,
the more I know,
This whole thing is just for show.
I could cut away all night if I really wanted to,
But then what good could it possibly do?
With cuts and bruises on my wrists,
It wouldn't increase the chances of anyone knowing I exist.
If I added more and reached my peak,
I'd only be labeled as nothing but a freak.
And there's so much more to me,
That I'd want other people to see,
But with all these scars,
They'd only see my poor physique.
It's already bad enough that I'm fading away on the inside,
But at least from out here,
I can still have some sense of pride.
There's no denying that I feel like dying,
But here I am,
Alive and surviving.
I don't know if I'll ever be alright,
But I won't be going down without fight...
YOU ARE READING
ωσя∂s ι ғεεℓ
Non-Fiction▁ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ ▆ █ ▆ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▂ ▁ тнє тιтℓє ιѕ ρяєтту ѕєℓf-єχρℓαиαтσяу. вυт ιи ¢αѕє уσυ'яє ѕтιℓℓ υиѕυяє, тнιѕ ιѕ ѕιмρℓу αℓℓ αвσυт му fєєℓιиgѕ αи∂ тнσυgнтѕ вєιиg ρυт ιитσ ωσя∂ѕ. ι нσρє уσυ єиנσу αи∂ ιf иσт, тнαт уσυ αт ℓєαѕт gєт ѕσмєтнιиg συт σf тнιѕ.. ▁ ▂ ▄...
