the ones who loved me told me to stop. but how could i when they are the ones who put me here?

my open window lets in the chilled air and rain droplets of darkness. i knew it was time to stop but how could i?

one time led to another to another and to another. untill the cuts finally stained permenent.

each line resembled something i didnt want to remember, fights, a breakup, depression

my nails clawed at the idea of another cut, another memory, another way to fight the pain.

but if i did, would they notice the dried blood cut at school tomarrow?

i wanted out of this world where everyday i put on a show, a play of someone who i was not.

no one could help me now, i was drowning in my own pain and misery.

each fight was like another wave of depression that drowned me ever more in its inky depths, sucked me into one more cut.

my life is an empty page of words that mean nothing but "you have been played"

while i sit here writing this weak poem i think to myself, what good am i doing?

a gust of wind twists through my hair and toils with the idea of quiting, cold turkey.

my eyes fill and tears of blood stain my cheeks...