it hit my skin, it felt good
I was high and drunk on the feeling
the feeling of blood rushing out


I know what I'm doing to myself
yet I cut
one,
two,
three,
four,


lines of blood pool down my arm
I'm on the line of life and death
but I don't care


it takes the pain away for the moment
I feel free like the butterfly I see
the bathroom Is bloody
I know people will see


but so what?
this is me
this is the only me I got
let me lay here in my blood


after all it is my blood
your not the one that will end up with the scars
your not the one with the pain
so why do you judge?


this is why I hide the scars
your prying eyes judging
your judgment of a mouth
your body moves as if i've got a sickness


this is why I got no help
the words you say
the way you acted like I was different for my scars
why would it have mattered if I got help
I will still always have these scars


these scars that scare you so much
yet you don't get to know the story

your actions and words are the cause of many scars on many people
they are just deep within
so why do my outside scars make you that mean?
do you act like that with everybody you've given scars?
or was it just the ones with scars that you can see?