My mind is sick,
and I am tired,
of feeling this way,
being someone not admired.
The cuts on my wrists,
scream and beg for more,
but I know better,
than to be who I was before.
I am ashamed,
of the person I've become,
sick, frail,
worthless and dumb.
People look,
and people stare,
but they know better,
than to care.
I am alone,
and I am sick,
my worries and fears,
weigh me down like a brick.
