They think I'm happy but I'm not
They think I haven't cut but I have
They think I'm not suicidal but I am.
You see nobody really knows me.
YOU ARE READING
The broken
PoetryThe stinging burn of the water from my fresh cuts. The hot salty liquid streaming down my red hot cheeks. The times I am in so much pain that I can't even cry anymore.
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They think I'm happy but I'm not
They think I haven't cut but I have
They think I'm not suicidal but I am.
You see nobody really knows me.
