You know you have a problem,
When it dosent hurt anymore.
You know know you have a problem,
When there's no room left on your wrists.
You know you have a problem,
When you tear apart your fathers razors,
To get one last blade.
You know you have a problem,
When I feels second nature,
To never wear short sleeves.
You know you have a problem when you don't care anymore.
You know it's wrong to cut yourself.
You still do.
Why not.
If you die?
No one would care much anyway.
You know you have a problem when you don't mind if they would care if they cried anymore.
You know a problem when the only thing you want to do is die.
YOU ARE READING
Bleak
RastgeleI hate Christmas but I love to see the snow. What's the point in Christmas if no one is giving gifts? I hate to cry alone but I hate it when you see, And I hate being miserable but I'm scared of being happy. And what's the point in hiding teardrops...
