I look into the mirror and I hate what I see.The disgrace in the other side can’t be me.I pick up some scissors and trace a scar on my arm.A tear falls to the floor.What have I done?I look at the scissors and throw them at the wall.I weep into my hands and then my parents call.Here we go again it’s time for the show.I put on a fake smile and get ready to go.Wipe off the blood and cover the scars.This life I’m leading might as well be a lie.I pretend to be happy but I got to stop pretending.The pressure keeps on building with the wounds I can’t seem to forget.I hide in my room and lie on the bed.I wonder if anyone knows I wish I were dead…
Wow that is fucking crazy
True experience?
That is some very strong poetry
fender5190