Blood squirts everywhere.
My wrists I will tear
With this dull razor blade.

It's not suicide,
Just a way to ease my mind,
And the scars will eventually fade.

My flesh stings with every cut,
But it feels good, and what
I do to myself is not wrong.

I wish you wouldn't worry.
The cuts do not hurt me,
And the pain doesn't last very long.

I hide in long sleeves
And I smile to deceive
And pretend that I'm alright.

The angry red cuts
Don't hurt me much,
But I cry in my room every night.