The counsler take about my mistakes
The pills make me fake
My parents talk of things to take my mind off of suicide
Meanwhile when everyone sleeps I cry the cold bathroom floor and the razor become my only comfort at night.
My arms are always hidden with sleeves.
No matter how hot or humid it gets I'll never show you the marks I made
The tears of shed only make things worse but I can't bring myself to stop.
Just another counselor visit more pills and another mark to be made
