I'm not better and I keep waiting for someone to figure that out. Nobody sees through the fake smiles. No one hears my silent cries in the middle of the night.
No one sees the faded scars littering my body.
I want to cut. I want to slice my thighs until they are stained Crimson. I need to feel the cool medal blade on my skin. I want to feel something. I don't want to be numb.
YOU ARE READING
The broken
PoesiaThe 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.
